You've Got Mail: An OQ AU
by grayautumnsky13
Summary: Robin Locksley is a small business owner, and Regina Mills is a corporate raider who has set her sights on his store–and both are completely unaware that they're falling in love.
1. Chapter 1

Regina bristles as she blinks up from her laptop, a heavy silence hanging in the air as her questions go unanswered.

They're sitting at a conference table in the midst of a meeting, discussing the next steps her company will take in the acquisition of Crossbow Comics and Collectibles–a little independent, niche shop a few blocks away. It's profits are reasonable–admittedly far better than expected despite recent dips–and they have to be careful because this one seems worth rebranding.

Or at least she thinks it does.

She blinks, looking up from her laptop. She has no idea what her business partner or their assistant think because they've suddenly fallen mute. Offering them an annoyed sigh, Emma finally looks up, slowly pushing her phone away as a sheepish and apologetic grin stretches over her lips–and then, Regina's glare turns to Ruby, sitting across from them, giggling at a notecard instead of taking notes.

"Oh," she murmurs, looking up and likely feeling her bosses' glare. "Uh, sorry…"

"Another card," Regina says, a smirk forming over her lips. "You've been getting a lot of those."

"Yeah," Emma agrees. "That's… two today?" Emma laughs a little. "I'm lucky if I check my mailbox twice a month."

Regina's eyebrows roll. "I just don't know how anyone has the time." She pauses as her eyebrow cocks. "Oh, that's right it's because _some of us_ actually work."

Her comment falls on deaf ears as Ruby's cheeks flush. "Yesterday's and today's," she tells them as she folds the card and tucks it between her laptop. "Well, it's actually three, if you include the one I dropped in the mail at lunch." Her lip catches. "Things are getting… kind of intense."

"Yes, you and those cards seem to be having quite a good time," Regina murmurs as a giggle rises up from Emma. "Do you think you're… actually going to meet her?"

Emma blinks. "And learn her name?"

"Or are you content with the little love affair you're having having with the US Postal Service?"

"Tease all you want," Ruby says as a grin stretches over her lips. "This is the real deal."

"Until you learn your sweet, bookish pen-pal is actually an inmate with tattoos across his knuckles," Emma says dryly. "Who's just about to make parole." Regina laughs as Ruby's eyes roll. "You two think I'm crazy, but statistically…"

"Can we _please_ get back to work?" Regina interjects, her voice rising over Emma's. "Some of us have plans this evening."

"Plans?" Ruby asks, her brown eyes growing wide as Emma slowly turns in her swivel chair to face Regina. "What kind of plans?"

"Do you have a date?" Emma asks, her eyes widening. "Regina, are you going to get laid tonight?"

Regina's eyes roll. "Henry has boy scouts. He's getting a new badge."

"Oh…"

"I thought maybe…"

"I know what you two thought," she says, annoyed as she looks between them. "And you're wrong."

She watches as Emma and Ruby exchange looks–as if she's not sitting right there–and she sighs dramatically. She's known Emma for nearly a decade–and Emma Swan is decidedly single, with the exception of an on-again, off-again love affair with a naval officer who comes into town for a couple of weeks every few years. She's career-driven and focused on her goals, and her lack of personal life has made her the perfect business partner. A few years ago, they'd made the decision to take on an assistant, and hired Ruby. Their company was growing increasingly successful, and they'd needed someone to do some of the more tedious tasks that they no longer had the time or desire for–like taking minutes in meetings. Ruby was a smart girl and fresh out of college when they'd hired her. She was sweet, but had a shrewdness about her that she and Emma both appreciated–and she went through more boyfriends and girlfriends than anyone they'd ever met. Once Regina had asked about it, and she's simply shrugged her shoulders and made an off-handed remark about people finding her intimidating and hard to keep up with, and that she wasn't the sort to settle down. But there'd been something about the way she said it, that told Regina there was more to her story than she was letting on–and this recent correspondence she'd taken up with some librarian who worked downtown seemed to confirm that.

"You know men think I'm a Black Widow," she says flatly, rolling her eyes as she looks back to her laptop. "So, I don't date. The only man in my life is my son, and I like it that way."

When she was eighteen, she thought she knew everything and exactly how her life would go; and it'd taken a car accident on her the day of her high school graduation to proven her wrong. A few years later, she'd married a man her mother set her up with–he was wealthy and powerful–a corporate raider with an interest in publishing–and the dullest man she'd ever met. And then one morning, one of the maids told her that he was dead–and a few days later, their lawyer informed her that she'd inherited his company.

It was mildly successful–not nearly to the degree that Leopold alluded– and she'd enjoyed rebranding it. She'd thrown herself into it, heart and soul, making it her own–and it was somewhere in that process, she'd first heard the rumors floating around the office.

The stories always differed in the small details–but they were all blatantly untrue. Some said she'd poisoned Leopold with small doses arsenic; others said she'd been withholding his heart medication. Other, more wild versions, said she was in cahoots with his lawyer; and others claimed, she'd done it before–after all, her high school boyfriend had died rather suddenly. All of the stories could have been put to rest by releasing her late husband's autopsy reports; but, there was a part of her that enjoyed their baseless suspicion–and she never missed a chance to use it to her advantage. After all, at twenty-seven years old, she needed something to make a bunch of middle-aged men take her seriously.

Ruby sighs in disappointment. "You should let me set you up."

Emma grins. "You know, Regina, it wouldn't hurt for you to… you know, get your rocks off a bit."

Slowly, Regina looks up and her eyes shift between them. "You are _not_ suggesting I find some random guy to hook up with to…"

"Well, I'm definitely not suggesting you marry him. Just…have a little fun with him."

"I mean, it'd take the edge off…"

"Look, Regina. I get that you're not interested in a relationship and I am certainly not suggesting you need a man in your life, but…" Emma shrugs as a sly grin stretches onto her lips. "When was the last time you… let loose a little and let yourself get caught up in someone?"

Ruby's eyes light up. "We could take her out!"

"I'm not going clubbing," Emma says flatly. "But there is that piano bar over by…"

"Ohh, yeah, the new place. I've been dying to go!"

"Well, I hate to burst your bubble, ladies," Regina cuts in as she closes her laptop. "But we've been sitting here for an hour and aren't even near behind finished. So, I'm going to call it a day and pick up my son. You two can feel free to stay here and giggle about boys and bars and one night stands." Her eyebrow arches as rises from the conference table. "Or, you could get some work done. We do have a deadline. Whatever you prefer."

As she walks out, she hears Ruby sigh–and a smile tugs onto her lips as, she hears the faint sound of typing.

"Roland," Robin calls. "Are you doing homework?"

"Yes," the little boy calls back as he turns the page to an Avengers comic–and Belle laughs.

Robin rolls his eyes as he cuts open a box. "I'm pretty sure Captain America has nothing to do with your spelling test tomorrow."

"He _does_ have to read twenty minutes every day," Belle says, slicing into her own box and Roland giggles from the office. "So, he's not lying… exactly."

"He's been reading for forty-five minutes."

"So, he's getting ahead," Belle replies, lifting a stack of comic books from the box. "Besides, reading helps in all subject areas… math included."

Robin sighs as he takes the stack and lifts his own, then turns to the shelf behind the counter–and he finds himself wondering how much longer he'll be able to do this. In less than thirty days, his shop will be taken over by Blanchard Books and he'll no longer be self-employed, but an employee of Regina Mills'–not so endearingly known as The Black Widow of Publishing–a woman he's never met, but already loathes. She'd been so smug in her correspondence–offering to let him "stay on" and "manage" the store once her company took it over. He hadn't had the resources to fight her; and, everyone pointed out, as a single father, he didn't have the resources not to take her offer.

"You know," Robin begins, looking back over his shoulder. "Keep it up, and I might not be able to keep you on."

Belle just laughs–she knows he's bluffing, and he knows it, too; he couldn't run the store without her. "Well, good thing I have that part-time librarian job." She grins. "They are always asking if I want a better schedule."

"Ah, right. The library." He shakes his head. "How could I forget? You're practically my son's dealer."

"I will never apologize for supplying your son with books."

Robin grins. "Or for telling what's popular so I know what to order?"

"That one's debatable."

Robin laughs and shakes his head, and from the corner of his eye he watches as Belle pulls an envelope from her apron–and he smiles gently as he watches her withdraw a letter. He watches the way her smile warms as her eyes move over the words–it's been like this for weeks. Every spare moment, she's pulling a note from her pocket and giggling like teenager as her cheeks flush. And though he's teased her mercilessly in those weeks, he has to admit that it's endearing.

"Still trading letters, I see."

"Indeed, we are."

"You and your mail carrier seem to be getting pretty… close," he laughs, shrugging his eyebrows in a suggestive way. "I think these letters are all a rouse."

"You tease, but I don't see your dance card filling up."

"Well, that's… true," he says, his voice sincere. "That note card of yours has gotten more action today than I've gotten in the last few years." He sighs and looks over at her. "Honestly, though, it's… kind of sweet. You seem to really like this mystery girl."

"I do," she admits, her cheeks flushing. "Even if I don't know her name. We made up names for ourselves." Her lip catches between her teeth. "She's Red and I'm Lacey."

Robin grimaces. "Do I want to know why you chose that particular name?"

Belle laughs out. "I had a crush on Lacey Chabert in her _Party of Five_ days."

"Ah… that's… better than what I assumed." Robin laughs. "Think you'll meet her?"

"Maybe…"

"What's stopping you?" He asks, turning away from the stack of comics and resting his elbows on the counter.

Belle shrugs. "I just… I'm afraid once we end this part, it'll be over before it ever really even starts."

Robin nods. He knows a thing or two about that. It's hard for him to believe that it's been nearly six years since Marian's death–six years since he last heard her voice or held her hand, six years since he'd last kissed someone. But it doesn't seem like it's been that long ago–and he can still feel her limp hand in his as her heart monitor flatlined, he can still hear the nurse's footsteps, coming toward him and he can still hear Roland's tiny little whimpers as if he knew what had happened. And once the shock wore off and he thought back to the years they'd spent together, he couldn't believe how short it'd been, especially in comparison to the lifetime that now laid ahead of him.

"You never know," Robin says, pulling himself back into the moment, and mustering a smile. "There are decent people in this world, and I'd like to think you've found one."

"Speaking of…" she murmurs, tucking the letter back into her pocket. "What about you?"

"What about me?" He blinks, his eyes narrowing as he brow furrows as if he doesn't understand the question.

"You know…" She sighs when he shakes his head. "Anyone new on the horizon?"

Robin blinks. "When has the answer to that ever been yes?"

"Well, I have this friend who…"

"Sorry," Robin cuts in. "I'm not interested."

"But, she's…" Her voice trails off as he shakes his head. "Robin, you're a great guy. You deserve to have someone who makes you happy."

"I do," he says, grinning as he looks past her toward his office to where his messy-haired son is sitting with his feet propped up on the desk reading his comic book. "I have Roland, and he's all I need."

Belle sighs, but she doesn't say any more about it. Instead, she simply goes back to switching out the newer comics for last month's editions. He's known Belle since she was a little girl–her brother John had been his best friend growing up and when a football scholarship had taken him away, Robin had fallen into the role of her pseudo-big brother–and even after John's return from college, it was a role that Robin happily kept.

"You know what I mean…"

He nods. "I do."

Belle sighs again, and he finds himself thinking of Marian–thinking of how much he misses her and remembering the way, she'd smile when he came in and curl into his side as they sat together and watched a movie or read or just talked about their days. And while he misses that closeness, he can't imagine that he'd find it again with someone else–you just don't get that lucky twice in one lifetime. And so, he'd have to be content with just the memories.

She's tired and all she wants to do is go home, tuck Henry into bed and soak in a hot bath.

For an all too brief moment, her eyes close and she can practically feel the tingly bubbles working away the tension in her shoulders and she can almost smell the lavender, pushing her thoughts away.

But Henry's still excited, and she now has the knowledge that earning three new badges in Boy Scouts is a really big deal. He chatters on and on, explaining how to tie various knots and how to use a compass, and he repeats a story of an elderly man who taught him to play Gin Rummy while he was volunteering at a retirement home earlier in the month. She smiles tiredly as she listens, nodding every now and then as her heart swells with pride.

After the meeting, he'd been beaming and she'd offered ice cream as a well-earned reward. Henry had smiled and nodded enthusiastically, and she'd tugged him along, leading him in the direction of a little cafe that she could never quite remember the name of that makes amazing sundaes and an Apple Pie Ala Mode that she'd once told Emma almost made up for her lack of sex life.

Of course, Henry would have been pleased with some soft serve or even a couple of scoops of Breyer's or whatever else she has living in the freezer that's labeled as ice cream; she, on the other hand, despite her tiredness, was in the mood to indulge. It's been a stressful week and that night had served as a reminder of something very important and something she too often forgot–no matter what happened or what anyone said about her, Henry is the one thing in her life that she's gotten right–and that he was worth celebrating.

They round the corner and her chest swells as a she laughs softly while he continues to chatter about the next patch he'll earn, and his next big endeavor. She gives his hand a squeeze and he grins up at her, so self-assured and confident, and so unlike the girl she'd been at his age.

"Wait," he says, stopping abruptly. "Can we go in?"

"Oh," she murmurs as her eyes shift up to the glowing sign of Crossbow Comics and Collectibles. "I… don't think we'll have time for both comics and ice cream."

"But the new Fantastic Four comes out today and it's in the window," Henry says, his voice piquing anxiously as he points at window. "Please, mom?"

She sighs and shifts uncomfortably. She knows this won't be a quick trip–and she knows this store's inventory could keep her son occupied for days without end. He'll go in and see the new copy of The Fantastic Four, and he'll see a few other comics he'd like to have. Then, he'll turn and see the shelves of vintage comics and he'll spend as much time as she'll allow thumbing through a first-edition of Captain America. And when he finally places it back on the shelf, he'll notice the posters and the action figures and the board games, and the large assortment of books meant to appeal to boys his age.

Even though she knows she shouldn't go in, Henry's hazel eyes plead with her–and even though there are a hundred reasons she shouldn't go into this particular store, she finds herself nodding and a moment later, she's standing next to a rack of comics as Henry selects a copy of his favorite.

With a sigh, she looks around–around a store that her company will soon own. She takes a breath as Henry mulls a second comic and it's only then that a man who can only be Robin Locksley catches her eyes. She feels heat rising at the back of her neck and around her collar as she looks into the clearest blue eyes she's ever seen. There's a ruggedness about him that she always finds attractive and when he laughs, dimples sink into his cheeks, making her stomach flutter.

Damn it, she thinks to herself as he pushes away from the counter and start toward them, her stomach flopping as he nears. Swallowing hard, it takes everything in her not to grab Henry's hand and leave–but that would require moving, and she's not entirely sure that's something she's capable of in that moment.

"Can I help you two find anything?" He asks–and her breath catches in her chest. He would have to have a British accent.

"N–"

"Do have last month's edition, too?" Henry asks, his eyes widening as he plucks a copy of the Fantastic Four from the shelf, his eyes curious as he looks up. "I dropped spaghetti on mine and it's… gross now."

"And it's now taking on a very distinct odor," Regina adds, grimacing at the detail she chose to add and earning a smirk from Robin.

"I do have last month's edition," he says nodding and offering her a quick wink before his attention turns to her son. "Right here." He plucks a comic from the shelf. "So, you're a fan of the Fantastic Four, huh?" Henry nods. "Can I show you something then? I think you'll like it…" Robin's eyes shift to Regina and she nods her consent, and a moment later, Robin leading Henry across the store.

She bristles, standing there and watching the way Henry's eyes light up as Robin shows him a copy of something she can't quite make out–and she feels her heart warm as he says something that makes Henry laugh. Slowly, her eyes sink closed–she didn't want to know Robin Locksley before she had to when the merger was finalized, and she certainly hadn't wanted to like him. Yet there he was, chatting with her son about superheroes, making his eyes smile like they were–and his own smile was so damn charming.

And she hated him for it.

Her phone vibrates in her pocket and she pulls it out, glad for the distraction. Instinctively her eyes at the group text from Ruby and Emma…

 _Just so you know, it's done. Ruby and I spent a couple hours after you left, hammering out the details. I'll email it to you in the morning. I'd do it now, but you'll stay up half the night critiquing it and… well… I'd like to have my morning coffee before you yell at me._

Regina rolls her eyes–but can't deny, that's exactly what would have happened.

 _Look, about before… we didn't mean to upset you. And just like every other deep and meaningful thing we've ever said to each other, I expect that this will go undiscussed: There's nothing wrong with being happy. You don't get limited chances at it, either. And, quite frankly, you're a catch, Regina… and we just think it'd be nice if you had something other than work to keep you up all night._

Regina sighs as she looks up, watching as Robin hands a graphic novel to Henry–and she smiles wistfully. She gave up on the idea of love long ago–her happily ever after died with Daniel. She'd tried a marriage of convenience only to realize that you didn't have to be alone to be lonely–and at the end of the day, she had her son.

Though she'd never admit it to anyone, there was a part of her that missed having someone–not necessarily a boyfriend or a lover, but someone she could talk to, someone who listened, someone she could tell about her day and go to for advice, someone who was simply there for her in a way that her friends could never be. She loved Ruby and Emma–and together, the three of them were unstoppable. But she always found herself holding back, always thinking before she spoke and always trying to be who they expected her to be–and somewhere in the midst of being that person–the woman who wore power suits and stilettos and could strike fear with the simple arching of her brow–she'd lost herself. She'd lost Regina.

Swallowing hard, she looks down at the screen, taking note of the string of emojis that Ruby's added to the conversation. She hears Henry laugh, follows by Robin's and she feels a tightening at her core as she opens up her email, unable to believe what she was about to do.

Robin sits at the counter, mulling over sales for the last weeks–not much lower than where they'd been a year before, but that always seemed to be the case, and over time "not lower" accumulated into a deficit. He sighs as his head falls back–he's still isn't entirely sure how this happened, how the store he'd built had been bought out by a corporation. He hadn't much of a choice in the matter and at the end of the day, he needed to keep a roof over his son's head and food on the table–and when it became a choice of being bought out at an undervalued price or accepting the merger, it didn't leave much of an option.

The sound of keys rattling in the door brings him back into the present moment–and he rushes to the door to help Belle as she struggles to hold onto two coffees and an oversized tote that's likely filled with heavy books as she fiddles with her keys.

He opens the door and she grins a bit awkwardly, shifting herself inside and extending one the cups to him.

"I have a present for you," she announces as she drops her back down near the counter.

"More than coffee?" He asks. "You spoil me." A grin curls onto his lips. "Especially considering I can barely afford to pay you."

"That's why I have my library job," she muses, shrugging as she digs through her bag. "You know I like helping out here, when I can." She grins up at him as she tucks a copy of _Wuthering Heights_ beneath her arm. "For you."

Robin blinks as he looks at the newspaper she's extending to him–a newspaper that she's clearly already read. "Oh," he murmurs as he takes it from her. "You… shouldn't have." She giggles a little as he looks down at it and finds it folded to the personals. His eyes narrow as he looks back to her. "Just… check it out. You might be pleasantly surprised. My picks are in pink."

"I doubt there's anything worthwhile in here," he sighs. "A bunch of bored, insecure…"

"Come on," she interjects, sighing as her brow creases. "There's no harm in looking." Rolling his eyes, he tosses the paper onto the counter–he has better things to do, he thinks, like opening the store up for the day. "Wouldn't it be nice to have something else to focus on, other than this store?"

"I have my son."

"Robin…"

"Belle," he cuts in, his voice rising over hers. "I've told you. I am not interested in dating and I don't need a distraction." He sighs. "I'm perfectly content…"

"Content isn't happy."

Robin blinks, trying in vain not to be frustrated with her. "Can we talk about something else, please?"

"Fine," she says, sighing as she leans against the counter. "Why didn't you tell me Regina Mills came in yesterday night." Robin looks up sharply, his eyes widening. "Oh…" she murmurs, her bottom lip catching between her teeth. "You didn't tell me because you didn't know."

"Who did you hear that from?"

"Leroy," she says with an easy shrug of her shoulders. "He told me when I was buying the paper. He said she left with a whole bag of stuff for her s–"

"Her son," he sighs, remembering the woman who'd came in the previous night with a boy looking for a new copy of the Fantastic Four. She was hard to forget with her deep brown eyes and reluctant smile–and she knew. She had to have know where she was and who he was–she knew and said nothing. "Damn it."

Belle's face scrunches. "I never pictured her as a mother."

"No," he murmurs. "I pictured her more of the type to eat her young." He bristles as his jaw tightens. "She stood here for over an hour, talking to me about… Funko Pops and…" He stops and looks back to Belle. "I can't believe she was here."

"What was she like?" Belle asks meekly. "I mean, I've heard she's… beautiful and… a real…"

"Bitch?" Belle shrugs into a nod as his nose scrunches. "Was she _spying on me_?"

"Well, she doesn't need to spy, exactly…"

"No, she's already screwed me over," he sighs. "Damn it. I spent over an hour showing her and her kid the graphic novel of _The Odyssey_. And she just stood there like she hadn't just blown apart everything I've spent my life working on."

Belle offers an empathetic grin. "Did she buy it?" Robin sighs and nods. "Well, good. You have that thing way overpriced." Robin can't help but grin as Belle pushes herself away from the counter. "Okay, my shift at the library starts in about a half an hour and I have to stop by the post office before I go in, but I'll be back before it's time for you to pick up Roland from school." Reaching out, she nudges the newspaper toward him. "You're one of the good guys, Robin, and you deserve to be more than just _content_."

He musters a half-hearted smile and nods–he knows she means well, but he's not interested.

For him, Marian had been it, and he was certain that anyone else would pale in comparison–after all, that sort of love only came once in a person's lifetime. Besides, he had their son and his memories, and no matter what Belle said, there were certainly nothing wrong with accepting one's lot and being content with it. Life didn't always pan out the way it was supposed to. Life was filled with its up and downs, and not every story was meant end with a happily ever after.

Grabbing the newspaper, he looked down at it, ready to toss it into the recycling, when he notices one of the advertisements Belle had picked out and circled in pink highlighter. He sighs as curiosity bests him and he decides to read it…

 _What happens when you find that one single person in this world that fills your heart with joy… and then you lose them? What happens when the lifetime you thought you had before you gets cut short? I'm not looking for answers, really; and I'm not looking love, much less a hookup. I'm content with the memories that I have, and on most days, the memories are enough. But then, there are other days–other days when the loneliness creeps in and becomes too much to bear, days when I just want to have someone ask about my day so that I can vent about traffic, or someone who will listen to me talk about your favorite movie or offer up recommendation for new books. If you think you might like to be that someone–that companion–please respond. Please understand that I am a busy single mom; I am not interested in dating. I am simply looking for a friend._

Robin lets out a shallow breath, feeling like he'd just been sucker punched as he blinks back down at the ad–an ad he could have easily penned himself. And in spite of himself, he feels compelled to know more about this person, this seemingly kindred spirit.

When she placed the ad, she hadn't anticipated a response–and, as Ruby had told her a thousand times, there were ways to keep things anonymous. No addresses had to be exchanged; and if you didn't want to go through the hassle of setting up a PO Box, the agency that ran the ads could collect the responses and forward them to you–though, that meant the correspondence would be slower and delayed.

So, it came as a shock when a meek receptionist who worked the front desk at the office–a woman who refused to so much as make eye-contact with her, popped her head into her office and informed her that she'd received mail– _personal_ mail.

Her brow had creased as she took the letter–a standard white envelope with her name and work address printed on a sticker that was stuck to the front and no return address–and, for a few minutes, she wondered if she even wanted to open it. After all, she'd sent the ad in a moment of loneliness–deseration, even–and she'd regretted it the next morning. She hadn't checked the paper to see if it had been printed, she didn't send an email to inquire about replies, and after three days, she'd nearly forgotten the ad had ever been placed.

Yet here she was, holding an envelope between her fingers and debating whether or not it was worth opening.

Leaning back in her chair, she watched Emma and Ruby shut the door of the conference room and her eyes shifted to the clock above her door–they'd be occupied for the better part of the hour, and they were the only ones that dared enter her office uninvited. Taking a breath, her finger slowly slipped beneath the flap, pushing at it until it ripped–and then, inside, she found another envelope.

She blinked down at the blue ink, and her a grin tugged at the corner of her mouth–he'd used a fountain pen and there was something about that she found… intriguing.

Taking a long breath, she slowly exhaled it, letting her curiosity get the best of her.

She smiled again at the notecard–cream colored with a dark blue embossed border and the little lion at the card's center–and she reminder herself that merely opening the card and reading what this stranger had to say didn't mean anything, she could choose not to respond.

Or to respond, if that's what she wanted.

Flipping open the card, she scanned it, taking in the small, tight, boxy letters in that same blue ink that addressed the card–and her a little chuckle rose from her as her eye caught the line _I swear to you, I am not a psychopath_ at the note's start–and then her eyes shift to the top of the card, to read the response from the start.

 _After a great deal of debate, I decided to respond to your advertisement. I've never done this sort of thing and I was reluctant, but there was something about your words that drew me in, and I found it nearly impossible to get your words out of my head. You see, yours was an advertisement that I could have written. On most days, I am quite content with my life. I enjoy my work, I have friends and my son is my entire world._

 _Before my wife died, I thought I knew the exact trajectory of my life. We'd raise our son together, watch him go off to college and start his own life, and grow old together. That was the plan. Then, the plan changed and while I've made peace with that, I'm not sure those around me–friends and family–have done the same. So every time I mention a desire for companionship, they confuse it with a desire for romance._

 _Your invitation to trade letters about books and movies and single parenthood sounds exactly like what I'm looking for, and I hope that you'll respond. I swear to you, I am not a psychopath or looking for more than you are willing to give. I would just like to be your friend._

 _(Hopefully) Unit Next Time,_

 _Your Hopeful New Friend Who'd Love to Chat_

 _About Traffic and Other Perfectly Boring Things_

She can't help but giggle at the way he signed the card–and then she grimaces at her _giggle_. She reads the card for a second time, and then a third, and she can't deny that the thought of striking up a correspondence is a little exciting–and even a little bit thrilling.

Tucking the card into the top drawer of her desk, a grin pulls onto her lips as she considers her reply.

 _I wasn't sure that I wanted anyone to reply to my advertisement–like you, I've never done anything like this before, and admittedly, I placed the ad on impulse. No one in my life knows that I wrote it, and I'm afraid I'm a little embarrassed about it. In fact, I nearly didn't open your note. But, curiosity got the best of me–and if I'm being honest, I'm glad that it did._

 _Now, it's my turn to respond, and for the first time in very long time, I'm at a complete loss for what to say. So, I've decided it would be easiest to start these letters as if we're in the middle of a conversation and as if we're dear old friends, rather than than what we really are– two people who don't know each other in the slightest._

Robin laughs out at that, then looks around to make sure that Belle isn't in earshot. Though he knows she wouldn't tease him or disapprove, he's not quite sure what to make of this little arrangement–it's all so new to him, and somehow, keeping it a secret make it feel a little more adventurous. Getting up, he closes the office door as he hears Belle greet a customer–a little boy and his father–and he quickly returns to his desk to continue reading her letter.

 _Still, this is difficult for me. I don't open up to people. I don't share. I like to keep things to myself–but sometimes that becomes too much of a burden and I just… explode. Fortunately for you, I won't be baring my deepest, darkest secrets to you. Instead, I'm going to start with something easier and something I think you'll likely relate to–my son._

 _Like you, my son is my world–but sometimes, I just don't understand what it's like to be in the head of an eight-year old boy_.

At that, he can't help his burst of laughter–and once more, he feels that strange sort of connection to her that he can't quite explain or understand, yet already, he finds comfort in. She goes on to tell a story about her son's penchant for cheese sauce–something he now puts on everything and something she finds repulsive, especially when they're out to dinner and he requests it from the waitress.

Once more he finds himself laughing and thinking of Roland and some of his odder tendencies–particularly one he had as a toddler in which he wouldn't eat anything if it didn't contain marshmallow fluff (something he absolutely blames on Belle who introduced the hellish substance to him) and how there are still sticky patches from it in his cabinets. And thinks back to some the strange things he ate as a boy and how it used to vex his mother–and he finds himself genuinely smiling, and he can't help but think how fun this correspondence will be, and how it may prove to be the exact distraction he needs.

Regina grins as she leans back in her chair–and she reaches into her purse, to pull out the letter that had arrived just before lunch to read it for a second time.

She'd been walking out of a meeting with Ruby and Emma and they'd been ironing out plans for lunch when she spotted the mail carrier. Her stomach fluttered with anticipation, and quickly she made an excuse, telling Emma and Ruby she was going to stay back at the office and order in to get a jump start on the afternoon's work. Emma's eyes had narrowed, but she'd sighed and nodded, and a few minutes later, she and Ruby were off–and Regina had her letter.

This–whatever _this_ was has been going on for a couple of weeks now. Every few days, they traded letters–letters that she found herself eagerly anticipating.

At the start of their correspondence, he'd proposed they keep things as confidential as possible. They opted not to use real names–choosing cutesy little monikers insteads–and they'd both opened up PO Boxes at the post office. While they each knew the other had a son and their boys were a couple of years apart, they hardly knew the intimate details of each other's lives. They didn't talk about work or school–not in any real detail–and aside from being somewhere in New York City, they didn't include any details about where they lived. They were careful–and his caution was something she appreciated.

It was odd, given how little they actually shared with each other, that she was beginning to feel like he knew her better than anyone. That with the scraps of information and bits of random musings, he was able to become someone she could rely on, someone who offered counsel, someone who could make her smile without even trying. Their letters to each other were filled with absolutely nothing, yet somehow were filled with everything.

They wrote about their mutual love for New York, for the fall and for coffee. She ranted about slow walkers on the city streets and high prices at Starbucks, and he teased her asking if she was aware that coffee could be made at home. He wrote her about warm bagels from a bakery down the street from his apartment, going for walks in Central Park and standing on the bridge at Turtle Pond. She told him about Daniel–in the vaguest yet most detailed ways; and he told her about his late wife.

She wrote to him about some of her favorite books and how she'd always wanted to join one of those book clubs at the local library; but she didn't like to go to those sorts of things alone–and he'd shared the sentiment, and offered suggestions of his own favorites. They traded kid-friendly recipes and encouraged each other to do things they didn't usually do–and quickly, this mystery man had become the friend she hadn't realized she'd been missing.

 _Have you ever taken a look at your life and wondered how you got there? This happened to me this week, and it hit me like a ton bricks: I am a Soccer Mom. I didn't think it was possible–with me being a man and all, but it's true. I am a Soccer Mom._

 _Every Tuesday and five-fifteen, I stand on the sidelines of a soccer field and watch my son and his friends run around chaotically after a black-and-white ball. They have cute uniforms with a unicorn on the front and their names on the back. And every Tuesday, I stand with the other soccer moms. I have bought Mary Kay hand cream and have sampled various brands of flavored sparkling water; and they bought me a Thirty One bag, that I use frequently to carry around all of the things that my son seems to need to tote around with him at all times. I even have a matching lunch bag in which I bring pseudo-healthy post-practice snacks for my son._

 _Last week, they asked me to come to their book club–and I thought of you._

 _I got a copy of The Time Traveller's Wife from the library and I made some spinach dip, and I sat in a room with eight women, and it quickly became obvious that none of them had actually read the book and instead had watched the movie. It wasn't a great book, but it wasn't a terrible book, and I'd been looking forward to discussing something that a six-year-old boy wouldn't have had any interest in. It was a nice escape for an evening, but I'm not sure I'll go back. If I do, it's my turn to choose the book, and I'm not sure I'm ready for that sort of pressure or that these ladies and I have anything in common aside from having six-year-old sons who play soccer together. I doubt they'd be interested in Hemingway or Faulkner or the other things I like to read. Those books tend not to spark catty discussion and are a bit too heavy to discuss over dips and wine._

 _So the next time you see one of those signs at the library, advertising a book club– go with your gut. If your gut is telling you you should go, go. It'll be a nice evening out. But if you're gut is telling you you shouldn't go, don't. You're not really missing anything._

 _Until Next Time,_

 _Your Mystery Soccer Mom_

Regina grins at last line–he always ended his letters differently, calling him her mystery something-or-another, while she preferred to end them by calling herself his friend. He had a sense of humor she enjoyed and had a penchant for being poignancy that seemed strike just the right cords. She looked at the blue ink and the rigid loops of his handwriting–and there was something about it that had become a comfort.

The sound of Ruby's laugh snaps her back into the present and she feels her cheeks flush as she shoves the letter back into the envelope and tucks it beneath her arm just as Emma pushes open her office door, her lips parting as if she's about to say something–yet no words come.

"Can I help you?" Regina blinks, grimacing at the warmth in her cheeks.

"Why didn't you come to lunch with us?" Emma asks, folding her arms over her chest as her eyes narrow.

"And why are you…" Ruby's voice halts and her eyes widen as they slide from Regina to Emma and then back again. "Oh my god, Regina. Did you stand us up for a quickie!?"

"Ooh," Emma gasps, her eyes lighting up as if she has it all figured out. "Remember that cop?"

Regina grimaces. "Graham?"

"He was pretty," Ruby adds, unnecessarily.

"And he was _terrible_ in bed," Regina says flatly.

"So, no cop…"

"No, cop," Regina sighs.

"So, that means… no lunchtime quickie?"

Regina's mouth falls open as she looks between them. "No. Why would you think something like that?"

"Because for two weeks you've been hiding something from us," Emma tells her, her eyebrow arching. "And you've had that… look."

"What look?" She scoffs. "There's no _look_."

"There is.."

"It's that look that says you've gotten some recently." A grin twists onto her lips Emma's lips. "And judging by the way you're grinning, it was good."

"And how exactly am I grinning?"

"Like a fool who's just gotten laid."

Regina's eyes roll and she sighs. "You're wrong."

"And you're a terrible liar."

"I'm not sleeping with anyone," Regina says flatly, as both Emma's and Ruby's eyes narrow. "It's been _years_ since _that_ has happened, and trust me, I wouldn't be keeping it a secret."

Ruby giggles. "So you kiss and tell?"

"Shut up."

Emma laughs. "Okay, well, if it's not that, then what is it?"

A coy grin pulls onto Regina's lips as her fingers rub against the edge of the envelope, and she watches the way Emma and Ruby stare at her, clearly annoyed by the details she's refusing to offer. Her bottom lip catches between her teeth and her shoulders shrug, and despite her annoyance with her friends, she more than enjoys having this be her little secret.

Robin grins as he opens the PO Box, his eyes falling to a small package marked with her familiar handwriting, and his stomach flutters with a nervous sort of anticipation he's not sure he'll ever quite get over.

He's barely out of the post office before he's ripping it open, finding a copy of _The House of Mirt_ h and a notecard. His fingers rub over the cover before flipping it open to see her handwriting on the title page– _This is a favorite of mine, and perhaps something you and the other Soccer Moms might enjoy_ –it reads. He sighs at the inscription, noting that she's signed it with a little heart, and he tucks the book underneath his arm and opens the enclosed note card.

 _My son loves to go to library sales and used bookshops. We've been all over New York picking through tattered old books, and this weekend, he found his fourth copy of Because of Winn Dixie–he just loves that dog–and he found a new series, The Very Nearly League of Honorable Pirates. Ever since he discovered this graphic novel at this little book shop, he's been absolutely obsessed with things involving sea travel–battles and monsters and pirates, anything!_

 _The reason I am telling you this is because while my son was browsing this kids sections, I was browsing through the classics, and I started to think about your little book club conundrum. And, almost as if it were fate I found the perfect book to recommend to you–The House of Mirth._

 _Forgive me if you've already read it, but I am of the philosophy–one that I've apparently passed onto my son–that you can never read a good book too many times. The first time I read The House of Mirth I was in college. I was going through a difficult time, and there was something about that I just… connected to. I was reading for a General Education English course, and I just fell in love with it. Looking back, it's the book that made me remember that I was still capable of loving anything at all._

 _So, every couple of years, I come back to it. I reread it and each and every time, I expect the end to be different. I know that sounds a little crazy–in fact, isn't that the very definition of insanity?–but I can't help it. I can't help hoping Lily's fate will turn out differently. But maybe that's just me projecting…_

His chest clinches at that line. It's not the first time she's alluded to something like this–something sad, something resigned–and he knows that she's had her fair share of heartbreak. In their earlier letters they'd traded their stories–or vague versions of them–and he knows that with the exception of her son, her heart is closed off. It's something he understands though, a choice that resonates with him because it's a choice he's made himself. But nonetheless, he finds himself wondering when she drops those little comments here and there–in the middle of a note, in a spot that could easily gone unnoticed–if it's all really what she wants, or simply the easier option. And then, as he takes a breath, he wonders if it's he who is doing the projecting.

With a sigh, he looks down at the note card and reads the first bit again, and this time his thoughts begin to wander and a little chuckle bubbles up from his chest as he thinks about whether or not it'd be appropriate to send her a soft blanket and some tea to remind her that somewhere out there in the world someone cares for her and someone's hopes she'll find happiness. He stews on that for a moment, wondering why he feels so compelled to comfort her–this stranger that he only knows through letters–and he wonders if such a thing would push at the carefully set boundaries of their correspondence.

Chewing at his lip, he flips open the book and fans the pages–and he can't help but notice that she hasn't sent him a clean copy of the book. In the margins are little notes– _I just love this part!_ and such _a great line!_ and the occasional _you'll need tissues here!_ And his heart flutters.

 _Regardless of the fate of Lily Bart, I think you'll enjoy this book. You seem the type who can enjoy something that's beautifully tragic–and I think you fellow soccer mom's will like it too (after all, there is a movie version starring Gillian Anderson that's not completely terrible, and at the very least, is true to the book)._

 _I hope you don't mind the little notations I made–I just couldn't resist!_

Letting out a wistful little sigh, Robin tucks the note char into the book and flips through the pages one more. He smiles softly at the thought of her mulling through stacks of old books in search of her favorite classic and chuckle rises up from him when he sees a character named Bertha's name circled and inscribed in the margin is a message of warning– _watch out for this bitch!_ Shaking his head he flips the page, rounding the corner as he strides toward the comic shop. She's circled the bolded SIX, indicating the sixth chapter and above the word is a large _My favorite chapter!_

He starts to read it, not really paying attention to where he's going or caring that he's starting in the middle of the story. He doesn't take his eyes off the page when he enters the shop, walking in a familiar path toward the counter–and it's not til Belle clears her throat that he's pulled from the story.

"Looks like a great lunch you got yourself there."

"Oh," he murmurs, briefly glancing up at her then back to the page. "I wasn't hungry."

"No? Then why did you leave to get a chili dog?"

Robin blinks. "What?'

"You said you were running out to get a chili dog for lunch," she says, her eyes narrowing. "And came back with," Belle tips her head to look at the cover of the book he's holding. "Edith Wharton?"

"Hm?"

"The book you're reading is by Edith Wharton."

"Oh, yeah…" He nods. "It is."

"She's not really your type."

"What?"

"Nevermind," Belle laughs. "So, um, I don't suppose you… picked up the onion rings I asked for while you were book shopping?"

Robin grimaces and his eyes sink closed–he completely forgot that Belle put in a lunch request and he hadn't the heart to tell her had no intentions of grabbing food; his chili dog excuse was just that: an excuse to get out of the store to check the PO Box. "I'm sorry, I…"

"Forgot," she cuts in. "It's fine. I probably shouldn't show up smelling like onion."

Again, Robin blinks. "I am having a very difficult time following this conversation."

"I can see that," she says, grinning as she reaches into her pocket and pulls out a folded up letter. "My mystery girl and I are…having a late lunch over by the fountain at Rockefeller Center."

Dropping the book onto the counter, a smile stretches across his lips. "Belle! That's great!"

Her cheeks flush a little and she nods. "Yeah, I'm… really excited and… nervous and…" She takes a breath. "Can I leave early?"

"I insist that you do!" Robin says, easily agreeing. "Go on, get out of here… and…" A soft chuckle rises into his voice. "You can thank me for forgetting your onion rings later."

Belle's smile is bright and her cheeks flush a little as she thanks him again and again, gathering her things and heading out. He watches her go, and his grin fades. Taking a breath, he pulls out the letter and he looks at it–staring at the black ink on the cream-colored paper, noting the way she loops her letters and how the dots above her i's never seem to come close to the rest of the letter. He shakes her head and opens the book, his fingers touching to the inscription on the title page before turning to the first page, and he begins to read–and by the time Lily Bart steps into Lawrence Selden's tiny, Americana-filled apartment, his thoughts are already drifting away from the characters to a woman he's never met.

He finds this happening more and more–him thinking of her when he's supposed to be thinking about other things. And it's odd, really, he thinks, how often he finds himself thinking of her–how she creeps into his thoughts at the strangest of times and how the most random of things remind him of her. He could be picking up a carry out for dinner at the shop or flying kites in the park with Roland, and something will trigger something she'd said in a letter. He could be folding laundry or standing in line at the grocery store, and suddenly think of something he wanted to tell her. He went through his days with her in mind–even if not consciously–looking for stories tell her, trying to find little antidotes and moments of humor in mundane situations. And for the first time in a very long time, he felt like he doing more than just going through life's motions.

He looks to the copy of _The House of Mirth_ on the counter and he picks it up, fanning through the pages–and he finds himself thinking how nice it would be to discuss it with her over a cup of coffee.

Regina refreshes her email for the umpteenth time, waiting for Ruby and Emma to grace her with their presence. She's early for the meeting, but she's decided they're running late–and as no new emails pop up, she become increasingly impatient as she waits.

She blinks down at a post-it note stuck to her laptop–a shopping list containing a list of lunch requests from Henry and a few other odds and ends; she considers the other errands she needs to run after work–she needs to pick Henry's Boy Scouts uniform from the dry cleaner, she needs to pick up some sort of healthy, nut-free, gluten-free, dairy-free, egg-free treat for his class, and before seven she needs to swing by the community center to sign him up for little league.

Sighing, she leans back in the chair–and taps her pen against the edge of her laptop, glancing at the time and pushing away thoughts of the whether or not _he_ was enjoying _The House of Mirth_. Pressing her eyes closed she tries to focus on the meeting–the meeting that should be underway–and not whether or not her annotations made him smile.

A grin edges onto her lips and she looks to the open door behind her–there's a letter waiting for her.

It had taken almost all of her restraint not to open it–and despite this little lull in her day, it'd been a busy one. The merger of Crossbow Comics and Collectibles wasn't the only one in play, and she'd spent the morning with company lawyers assessing the value of two other–albeit even smaller–shops, weighing whether or not they were worth Blanchard Books' investment. From there, she caught Emma up to speed–and then, she'd ordered lunch. Ruby and Emma protested, wanting her to come out with them instead; but a liquid lunch was neither conducive to spending an afternoon looking at data on spreadsheets and reading through legalese–or, at least, that was the reason she'd offered up to them.

On the way to pick up her lunch, she'd stopped in at the Post Office, her heart fluttering with anticipation as she turned the key in the lock and opened the little box. She couldn't stop the smile that tugged up from the corners of her mouth at the sight of his letter–a cream colored envelope she'd become accustomed to finding with his jagged print scrawled across it.

She'd held it for a moment; it wasn't lost on her how much she anticipated his letters–how she'd come to look forward to them, how she relished in them or how they never ceased to brighten her day.

And this had otherwise been an incredibly dull day.

She'd tucked it into her bag and carried on down the street in the direction of her take-out, deciding the letter could be her reward–a perfect way to end her day.

Reaching into the bag, her fingers seek the envelope–and her heart skips a beat when she can't find it. Drawing the bag to her lap, she shuffled through it, her heart beat quickening when she doesn't see it. She looks again and again–and when she hears the _ding_ of the elevator door, followed by chatter of Emma and Ruby and her stomach drops as she tosses her bag to the floor, back beside her chair.

She forces a tight smile onto her lips as they join her in the conference room to make her discomfort less noticeable, and Emma makes a lazy apology about being late–something about missing a cab–and she nods curtly.

"So, I was thinking we could start by…" Her voice trails off as she looks up to see her cream-colored envelope in Ruby's hand, her fingers covering the front. "What's that?" She asks, her eyes shifting from the envelope to Ruby as her mouth goes dry.

"It looks like Belle decided to drop me a note after our date," she says, a smile stretching over her lips.

Emma's eyes narrow. "I thought the point of meeting her was to… be able to talk to her face to face."

"You… have your mail delivered here?"

"Better than using her own address where any lunatic can find her," Emma cuts in, leaning back in her chair as she looks between them. "Regina, you can't be upset about that."

"I'm… not," she replies, swallowing. "I'm just…" She bristles as she looks at the familiar envelope in Ruby's hand, reminding herself that it's entirely possible that two people in New York would have purchased the same stationary. "Surprised, I guess."

"I'm lucky to have found it. It seems like the mailman must have dropped it," she says, as her finger slides beneath the sealed flap. "It was on the floor in front of the desk."

"So glad the receptionists are doing their jobs…"

"What does it say?" Emma asks. "The suspense is killing us." A grin twist onto her lips as her eyes slide to Regina. "Even Regina's not barking for us to get to work."

"Well, let's see then,"Ruby laughs, leaning back in the chair as she drops the envelope into her lap–and Regina holds her breath as Ruby's brow creases. "This is… strange." She shakes her head and Regina's mouth goes dry. "I… I don't understand…"

"What?" Emma asks. "What did she say?"

"That's just it… I… I don't know." Ruby blinks as she looks between them then her eyes fall back to the letter. "I mean… _My idea of success is personal freedom… Freedom from everything–from money, from poverty, from ease and anxiety, from all the material accidents! To keep a kind of republic of spirit–that's what I call success._ Ruby looks up, her brow creasing. "Is that… a quote?"

"Maybe," Emma murmurs. "She's a librarian, isn't she?"

"Oh my God," Regina breathes out, her eyes sinking closed as her cheeks flush, instantly recognizing the quote–a quote from her favorite chapter of _The House of Mirth_. "Oh, god…"

" _Whenever I see you, I find myself spelling out a letter of a sign…and I suddenly saw a sign into your republic._ " She blinks. "What does that mean?"

"Let me see that," Emma says, her brow furrowing as she plucks the letter from Ruby's hand, the paper crinkling and masking Regina's audible swallow. "Ruby," Emma begins. "This might be old it says… this says she wants to meet you."

"What?" Regina asks, the question erupting from her as she sits up straighter and she grab the letter from Emma and her eyes search to the end. "He wants to… meet?"

"He!?"

"Wait, Regina… no… you…" Emma blinks, her eyes widening with shock. "You'd never."

"Well, apparently I have," Regina barks, her cheeks flushing.

"Oh my GOD," Ruby laughs out, "Regina, you have a _boyfriend_!"

"I don't have a boyfriend," she scoffs, folding the letter and tucking it beneath her laptop. "He's…"

"He wants to… see the… spirit of your republic?" Emma says, barely able to contain her laughter as Regina glares. "Oh, Regina that sounds serious."

"And a little freaky," Ruby laughs, practically snorting as she tries to keep control.

Her eyes narrow. "He's hardly a friend." Her jaw tightens as she looks to Emma. "And it's _republic of spirit._ "

"Well, excuse me," Emma snickers.

"So," Ruby asks leaning forward and placing her elbows on the table. "Have the two of you… you know…"

"Are you asking if he and I have had sex?" Regina blinks. "I don't even know him."

"No, but like… cyber sex or phone sex, but… on paper."

"That's a thing?" Emma asks, her attention turning to Ruby as Regina's eyes sink closed. "How does that… work?"

"When does your naval officer come into town?" Regina cuts in, an obvious edge in her voice. "You seem awfully preoccupied with other people's relationships."

Emma shrugs and laughs, not bothered by the attempted barb. "So you admit it's a relationship, then?"

"You're insufferable," Regina sighs, leaning back in her chair as a slow smile tugs on to her lips. "He… really wants to meet me?"

"He does," Ruby nods.

"You know, Ruby and I can… handle things here," Emma tells her. "You sent me everything we were going to discuss and, if you write him back now, he'll have your reply by tomorrow."

"That's very true," Ruby adds. "The last pick up's at four."

Letting out a shaky breath, Regina feels her stomach flutter as she pulls the letter back out. Unfolding it, she stares down at his print–rigid and boxy, but so neat–and she glosses over the bits that gush over The House of Mirth and she quickly reads through a section where he mentions that since his wife passed away six years before, he feels like he's barely been living and instead has been going through the motions, doing what's easy and rarely taking risks that extend beyond thai food from questionable establishments.

A smile tugs up from the corner of her mouth as she reads his request to meet for coffee. He's quick to assure her that it wouldn't be date, that all hasn't been some elaborate ruse to make her want to date him, given how clear she was in her advertisement–but he likes her and he wants to be her friend.

She feels a flicker of disappointment, but she lets herself smile nonetheless and she can't deny his friendship would be a nice thing to have.

He's nervous.

He can't help it–it's been so long since he's done any of this. And he has to remind himself again and again that this isn't a date, no matter how much he wants it to be.

That, in and of itself, has his stomach in knots.

The idea of dating–of even being open to the possibility of dating, to opening his heart up again to someone who wasn't Marian–is hard for him to fully understand. He's not sure how or when his feelings on the subject changed, but every time he went to the Post Office, he found himself opening up to the idea–and whenever he found her letter waiting for him, he found himself warming to it.

"So," Belle begins, leaning against the counter as he counts out the deposit–something he's done three times now in an effort to distract himself. "You're really going to meet her?"

"I really am," he says with a nod.

"Where did you two agree on?"

He looks up. "We… haven't sorted out the details yet."

"Oh… well… are you the one setting it all up?"

He nods, offering her a sheepish grin. "Yeah, and I… I feel a little lost. It's been forever since I've even… thought about doing something like this."

"Well, what are you thinking?"

Robin hesitates for a moment. "I was… thinking we could meet for coffee."

"Coffee is good," Belle says, nodding with encouragement. "Coffee is a nice start."

He grins. "You know that little coffee shop over by the library? The one with the ice cream shop attached?"

"I know it," Belle tells him, a soft chuckle rising into her voice. "They have an amazing hot-fudge sundae," she adds. "And I get a discount for being a library employee."

"Oh, that's nice," Robin says, distracted by the plan coming together in his head. "Well, I was thinking we could meet there and I could… bring a copy she sent me of _The House of Mirth_."

"So she knows it's you," Belle says, once more nodding. "I like it. Not as cliche as rose."

"Is that what you used when you met up with your mystery girl?"

Belle sighs. "I couldn't think of anything else, but…" A grin tugs on to her lips. "It did the trick."

"You like her…"

"I do."

"And things… went well on your lunch date?"

Belle's cheeks flush slightly. "Very well."

"Is that… why you were late this morning," he laughs, his eyebrow arching as her eyes narrow.

"You know, for someone who barely pays me, I'm not sure it's fair you watch the clock." She pauses, "But… yes… just… not for the reason you're implying." Her bottom lip catches between her teeth and she looks up at him with smiling eyes. "We ended up sitting in front of the fountains and talking for… hours." She laughs a little. "We completely lost track of time and then, all of the sudden, it was dark."

"So, you'll see her again?"

"Well, I'd like to…"

Robin blinks. "You… seem unsure."

Belle takes a breath. "There's… just this one little thing about her."

"Oh? Is she a smoker or worse yet, a non-reader?"

Belle's eyes roll. "No, no, it's… neither of those things. It's just that she… works for Regina Mills."

"Regina Mills," Robin blinks. "As in…"

"Yes."

"The woman whose company is taking over the business I built from the bottom up… the woman who's made the last year of my life and absolutely living hell?" His head tips to the side. "That Regina Mills?"

"Yes," Belle says, grimacing as her eyes fall away from his. "If you… hate that I… I'd understand."

"Well, I certainly don't love it…"

"If you don't want me to see her again, I won't," Belle cuts in. "You're like a brother to me and…"

"And I'd never stand in the way of your happiness," he says, his voice rising over hers. "And it's not like you're dating Regina Mills."

"Just her assistant."

"Her personal assistant?" He asks, sucking in a breath as Belle nods. "Shit…"

"I know. It's bad."

"It could be worse," he says, a soft laugh rising into his voice. "Like I said, you could be dating the devil herself." He pauses, offering her a reassuring wink. "Besides, this could work out in our favor."

"Yeah? How so?"

"We could have a spy."

"A spy…"

"Yes," he laughs, this time a bit more earnestly. "Someone to air all of Regina Mills' dirty laundry."

"And suppose Ruby is a loyalist?"

Robin shrugs. "We can lure her over to the good side."

Belle laughs. "I'm glad you're not bothered by it," she admits, her cheeks once more flushing. "Because I really like this girl."

"I can tell."

"And I can tell that you really like your girl."

"She's not _my_ girl," Robin says in a flat voice as he pushes away from the counter.

"Yet."

Robin's eyes roll, but he feels a little bit of hope bubbling up within him at the notion, and he reminds himself not to get too far ahead of things–after all, they're just meeting for coffee as friends. Friends, and nothing more.

She's been a nervous wreck all day–snapping at secretaries and wringing her hands, staring at the clock and counting down the minutes until she'd be meeting him for coffee.

She'd went home early to change–not wanting to show up a power suit, much less in all black–and she spent too long standing in front of her closet trying to choose something. Finally, she'd settled on pair of gray slacks and a silky cobalt shirt. She re-curled her hair and pinned half of it back–and her stomach fluttered as she looked at herself in the mirror, seeing a woman she hadn't seen in years.

Grabbing a black leather jacket and her stomach flutters, and the whole way to pick up Henry, she considers all of the reasons that she shouldn't go–and tries to remind herself of the one reason that she should.

Henry's eyebrows arch when he sees her and she laughs a little, fully aware of how out of character she looks.

"Why are you dressed like that?" He asks, taking her hand as they turn away from the school.

"Like what?"

"That," he says, waving his hand at her. "You're wearing a color."

"I wear colors… sometimes."

Henry looks skeptically up at her. "Are you going somewhere?"

"Just… meeting a friend for coffee."

"Emma?"

"No," she murmurs.

"Oh, then Ruby?"

"No…"

Henry's face scrunches. "I just listed all of your friends."

Regina blinks as they round the corner. "That's… not entirely true."

"Then who are you meeting?" She bristles as her pace slows. "Pizza? For dinner, really?" She grins and shrugs her shoulders and his eyes widen. "Are you feeling okay, Mom?"

"Yeah, why?" She says, chuckling softly as she pulls open the door.

"Because this place has a macaroni and cheese pizza _and_ a loaded nacho pizza. You would never pick this place for dinner in, like, a million years." He blinks, "Even their salads are loaded with cheese."

"I… see that," she murmurs, glancing up at the menu that hangs in front of a counter. "Who's to say I'm just not in the mood for… a three thousand calorie dinner"

Henry's eyes narrow. "Did you and Emma, like… switch places or something? LIke in that Freaky Friday movie?" Then his eyes widen. "Or is this like one of times when you do something really nice just to butter me up to tell me something bad's going to happen, like…"

"No," she cuts in. "I really just thought you'd enjoy pizza before Boy Scouts." She pauses. "And while we're on this very strange topic, Emma's going to pick you up, so… don't freak out thinking that she's really me or something."

"Because you're meeting your friend who doesn't exist?"

Regina sighs and rolls her eyes as her hand falls to Henry's shoulders. "You are definitely my son," she murmurs, pushing him into the restaurant and toward a booth.

They eat dinner and move on to safer topics–a math quiz and an art project, and of course, all of the drama that goes on during third grade recess. She smiles and nods, and while she's with Henry, it's easy to stay in the moment and forget how nervous she is; however, as soon as she waves goodbye after dropping him back off at the elementary school for his boy scouts meeting, her stomach begins to flop.

As promised, Ruby and Emma meet her halfway and despite their nearly merciless teasing, she's glad to have them there.

"I shouldn't do this," she says, abruptly as the coffee shop comes into view. "I can't. It's insane."

"It's not insane…"

"No more than any other blind date."

"It's not a date!"

Emma chuckles. "Yeah. Sure. Whatever you say."

"I just don't understand why I am so compelled to meet this man–this man who is a complete stranger to me."

Ruby's arm links through hers. "Calm down, Regina. You've been talking to him for weeks."

"And he's not a serial killer," Emma adds, her eyes widening as Ruby and Regina turn to look at her. "What? If he were he wouldn't have picked such a well-lit place that has no parking for his white, windowless, serial killer van." Her eyes roll and once more, Regina feels her stomach flop, and this time the knot tightens. "Look, you two think I'm crazy but one of these days you're going to–"

"I can't."

"What?"

"I can't go in."

"Regina," Ruby says in a soothing voice as she rubs the space between her shoulder blades. "I get that you're nervous and that this is way out of your comfort zone, but…"

"What if he's terrible?" She asks in a meek voice as she looks between them. "What if he's…" She sighs as her press shut. "What if he hates me?"

"That's not possible."

"He already likes you."

"He likes me on paper," she says flatly. "Me on paper isn't… me in reality." She watches as her friends exchange looks. "Can one of you just… go and… look."

"Sure," Emma says with a nod, squeezing her hand before walking up to the door and staring into the crowded coffee shop. "Now, what exactly am I looking for?"

"He, um, has a copy of _The House of Mirth_ with him." A soft grin tugs on to her lips as she thinks back to his letter. "He said he'd be reading it."

"Okay," Emma nods. "Yeah, let's see…" Regina swallows and takes a breath. "Okay, I see a very attractive man reading a book and…" Looking back over her shoulder, she smirks. "…unfortunately, it's a Stephen King novel."

"Come on," Ruby sighs as Regina's eyes narrow. "Don't tease her right now."

"Fine…" Emma mumbles, turning back to the window and craning her neck to get a better look—and then, she sucks in a breath as she turns back to face them. "Okay, so, uh, I spotted him."

"And?"

"You remember what Robin Locksley looks like, right? You know, the guy who used to own Crossbow Comics and Collectibles before… well, before you came along."

Regina blinks as her shoulder shrug. "Sure, but I don't see what that has to do with…"

"And you thought he was…"

"Ruggedly handsome was the term she used," Ruby supplies.

The knot in her stomach tightens and she looks between them. "Who the hell cares about Robin Locksley?"

"Well," Emma begins in a tentative voice. "If you don't like Robin Locksley, I can guarantee you're not going to like this guy."

Regina's jaw tightens. "Why?"

"Because… it is Robin Locksley," Emma answers with a grimace. "Robin Locksley is sitting at a table reading _The House of Mirth_."

She misheard her, she decides. She had to have misheard her because there is no possible way that for the last several weeks, she's been trading letter with a man who has every reason in the world to hate her.

"Oh my god, Regina. It is him!" Ruby says, looking back her with wide and apologetic eyes. "What are you going to do?"

Her eyes sink closed and she takes a long, deep breath and wills herself not to cry, not to show her disappointment. "Nothing," she says in an even voice as her eyes open. "I'm not going to do anything?"

"What do you mean?"

"Regina, you can't just let him sit there."

"Sure I can," she says, shrugging her shoulders and feigning indifference. "Because that's hell of a lot better than forcing him to have a cup of coffee with the woman who just steamrolled his entire life." Emma's lips part as though she's about to protest, but Regina's voice beats hers. "Good night, ladies. I'll see you in the morning."

"Regina…"

"Can you still pick up, Henry?" She asks, not wanting to hear whatever it is that Emma's about to say. "I suddenly feel the need to stop somewhere and have a drink."

"Yeah. Sure," Emma murmurs, nodding as Regina turns away–and as soon as she's around the corner and out of sight, she lets her tears fall at yet another opportunity over before it ever really began.

Robin takes a breath and slowly exhales it, tapping his foot nervously against the foot of the table as his eyes shift between the clock mounted on the wall and the front door.

He's never done this–never met a person he didn't know for a blind date–and she's late.

Very late.

So late that if she were anyone else, he'd have left long ago–or, he'd have been calling around to all of the local hospitals assuming that something terrible had to have happened to explain her absences. And, as he fidgets in his seat, he can't deny that that's crossed him mind a time or two, nor can he deny that it bothers him that he can't reach out to her in some way–he can't call or send a text, and it's not like he could call around to hospitals to see if they'd pulled a Jane Doe with beautiful penmanship from the carnage of a subway accident.

At some point, he knows that he'll have to make a decision, that he'll have to accept that he's been stood up–but he's not quite ready to admit that to himself because he knows the acknowledgement will be more painful than it should be.

The bell on the door jingles and he turns his head sharply toward it, letting out an audible sigh as Regina Mills steps through. He shrinks down in his chair, grappling for the copy of The House of Mirth that sits on the edge of the table. She turns into the cafe and looks around and he holds the book up in front of his face as though he can disappear behind it–an unsuccessful tactic Roland likes to try again and again, whenever bathtime nears, and like his son, he finds himself hoping that just this one time, it'll work.

Alas, it doesn't.

"Well, well, if it isn't Robin Locksley," she says, her heels clicking against the tile as she nears. "You know," she begins as he drops the book onto the table. "My eight-year old used to try that trick, and I'm afraid it wasn't very effective."

"I was hoping for better luck."

"Hiding from me?" She asks, a smiling twisting onto her lips.

Pulling himself back up, his shoulder square. "I'm waiting for someone."

Regina nods and her eyes fall to the empty seat in front of him. "So, that means that this seat isn't taken."

"But it is…"

"Is it?" She asks, looking around. "Is your friend imaginary? My son used to have one of those, too."

Robin's eyes narrow. "I'd prefer to leave it open for when–" His voice halts as the bell on the door jingles again and his eyes shift past her.

"I… assume that isn't her," Regina says, a chuckle rising into her voice as an elderly old lady with a stuffed flamingo attached to her walker enters, looking a little dazed. "Unless… you're into…"

"That's not her," he returns flatly, sighing audibly as she pulls out the chair and sits down. "Really, I'd prefer to wait alone, if you don't…"

"I won't stay long," she assures him. "Just until your friend arrives." Robin's eyes fall to the book–if being stood up wasn't embarrassing enough, he thinks. "So, tell me. What am I looking for?" She blinks as he looks up. "Blonde? Brunette? Tall or short?" His eyes sink closed and he feels heat rising at the back of his neck, wishing more than anything she'd disappear. "Ooh," she coos, her tone dripping with condescending amusement. "It's a blind date?"

"Not… exactly," he says. "I know her well."

Her eyes narrow and she leans back, crossing her arms over her chest. "Yet you can't describe her." She arches an eyebrow. "What? Did you answer a personal ad?"

Robin feels his jaw tightening with indignation. "Are you always so… unpleasant?"

"Not always." He offers a curt nod and she sighs. "Can I… buy you a cup of coffee while you wait?" He watches as she turns, waving to one of the waitresses–and he can't help but notice the scar on her lip, a somehow endearing flaw on an otherwise flawless face. He grimaces at that thought, grimacing at his obvious attraction to her–she wasn't someone he should find attractive. "I promise I won't take–"

"I'd rather not."

"What?"

"The coffee, I'd rather you not buy me a cup." He bristles as the waitress nears, hovering awkwardly just more than a foot away from their table. "I realize you're the sort of person who feels they can buy an apology…"

"You… don't know that at all." She shakes her head. "In fact, you don't know anything about me."

"Aren't you though?" He asks, his eyes narrowing. "Aren't you the sort of woman who buys the affection of others? Isn't that what you were doing in my shop?"

"I'm sorry?"

"That evening you came in with you son…" Something in her demeanor changes and he feels a sharp pang of guilt. "Isn't that what you were doing? Buying his love?"

For a moment, neither says anything–and his immediate thought is to apologize. But his voice gets caught in his chest and she pushes slowly away from the table. His eyes move to hers and she's hurt–deeply–and again, guilt stabs at his core.

"Well," she says, in a hushed whisper. "I won't take up any more of your time."

His eyes sink closed as she leaves, and he chides himself for his rudeness. No matter how much he hates Regina Mills, he had no right to attack her parenting. It'd been more than obvious the night she'd been in his shop that she doted on her boy–the way she'd smiled at him as he begged unnecessarily for the graphic novel he'd picked out had said it all.

Opening his eyes, he lets his head fall back, taking a long and deep breath. Then, he reaches into his pocket, throwing a couple of dollars onto the table to pay for his coffee, finally resigning himself to the fact that he'd been stood up.

No one dares speak to her that morning–they know better.

From the moment she stepped off the elevator–dressed in a tight black pencil skirt and a tucked in white blouse, too-high black Jimmy Choo pumps and dramatic red lipstick–they knew better than to so much look in her direction. She'd walked with such purpose, head held high and shoulders back, her jaw tight and her eyes narrowed, determined to keep everyone around her at a distance.

It was a carefully crafted facade–a mask she wore well, a mask she'd worn often in her earliest years at the company, and she knew that it would set people on edge, that they wouldn't dare look close enough to see the cracks.

Everyone except Emma Swan, that is.

She inhales a breath and looks sharply as her office door opens, and momentarily, she allows Emma's eyes to meet hers. She doesn't want to talk about it–she doesn't want to relive the humiliation and disappointment, she doesn't want to wonder if maybe he was right about her. Instead, she wants to stay angry–anger is her safe space.

"You went back," Emma begins, her voice even as she sinks into the chair across from her. "What happened?"

Regina's eyes narrow. "He was horrible."

"Well, that's a strong word."

"But an accurate one."

"What happened?" Emma asks, her voice still even.

"I told you."

"No," Emma cuts in. "You told me he was horrible. That's not _what happened_. It's a result of it." She pauses and shrugs. "Or your own, very likely flawed interpretation of it."

"I tried," she says, her voice abrupt as she leans forward, resting her elbows on the desk and covering her face with her hands. "I was going to _try_."

"That… must have been difficult for you," Emma says slowly. "To try to be… decent to another person." Regina's eyes narrow and Emma says. "Look, I'm sorry, I'm just… saying he has reason to… not really like for you."

"I know…"

"I mean, you did just sort of… bulldoze his life."

"Don't you think I know that?" Regina snaps, her voice rising. "But still he had _no right t_ o…"

"Regina," Emma cuts in when her voice starts to fade. "What the hell happened last night?" Her eyes pinch closed as she feels herself softening, her resolve diminishing and her anger fading to hurt as the insecurities she keeps buried so deeply within herself start to bubble up to the surface. "Regina…"

"He accused me of… of buying Henry's love," she says, her voice soft and shaky. "And… I sometimes wonder if… if I…"

"Henry loves you."

"I know," Regina murmurs, a faint grin pulling onto her lips. "And I love him He's… my entire world." She takes a breath. "But I wonder if… I'm there enough for him, if I keep him busy with baseball and boy scouts and all his other activities…"

"Which are all things he _enjoys_ ," Emma interjects. "You're not forcing things on to him. I was there, Regina, when he _begged you_ for those T-Ball lessons."

"I'm not around as much as I…"

"You're a working, single mother," Emma's quick to say. "Cut yourself some slack. You're raising a great kid."

Regina nods and a grin tugs up at the corner of her mouth. "I don't thank you enough… for… for all of your help." She sighs, shaking her head. "Everything you've done for me and Henry and…"

Emma's eyes soften and she nods, a lopsided smile stretching onto her lips. "You're getting sappy."

"I know…"

"We don't do sappy."

"I know…"

"We're not even drunk."

"Should we be?" A laugh bubbles up from her, but it catches in her throat. "I think we could arrange it. It is almost lunchtime, and I'm not sure I'm up for reading through contracts or… looking at data."

"And, uh, since we're being sappy," Emma begins, shifting a little awkwardly. "I'm glad to help." She takes a breath as Regina smiles. "And if Robin Locksley wants to accuse you of being a bad mother, then screw him. What the hell does he know, anyway?"

"Exactly," Regina replies quietly, failing at the air of confidence she wanted to convey.

"So, I, uh, take it this means the letters are done?"

Regina nods, feeling her lungs deflate, and she can't help but feel a little sad or disappointed or… something else that she can't quite place. "Yeah," she nods. "The letters are done."

From the corner of his eye, he sees Belle offer him that pitiful smile–that smile filled with empathy and disappointment, that smile he can't help but feel is a bit condescending, even though he know that it's not–and he looks away from her.

That morning, Belle had been waiting for him. When he'd arrived to open the shop, she'd been sitting on the a bench in front of it, wearing a bright smile and holding two cups of coffee. Telling her what had happened the night before had been an uncomfortably humbling experience.

At first, she'd been incredibly positive, insisting that there had to be a plausible reason for her absence, tossing out scenarios ranging from wildly outrageous to mundane–and she'd urged him to walk to the Post Office at lunchtime, so sure that he'd done a letter waiting for him, offering him an explanation and an apology.

Though he hadn't wanted to give himself false hope, he had to admit that Belle had a point–it's not like she could have contacted him. They hadn't traded phone numbers or even first names, so if there was some sort of last minute emergency, there wouldn't have been a way to get the message to him. And, she'd seemed excited about their meeting, so there was no reason to believe she'd have a sudden change of heart.

But when he went to Post Office, his PO box it'd been empty–and the mail carrier who usually filled it, offered him a regretful smile and shook his head when he'd inquired.

And since then, Belle had been looking at him like a kicked puppy.

"I think you should write to her," Belle says abruptly, pulling him from his thoughts. "At least that way you can… feel like you've done something about it."

"I did do something," he says flatly, "I showed up." He pauses. "And she didn't. So, I'd say the ball is in her court."

"Robin…"

"Belle, it's not a big deal. I think you're making more of this than…"

"Oh really?" She cuts in, gesturing to the stack of comic books in front of him in need of reshelving. "You've been sitting there, staring into space for almost twenty minutes with the _same look_ you had when Roland told you he didn't want to hold your hand when you dropped him off at school anymore." Belle sighs and leans against the counter. "It's okay to be upset, to wonder, to…"

"I'm not upset," he's quick to say. "It's not like this was… a romantic thing. We were… just meeting for coffee." He shrugs. "It wasn't a big deal."

Belle nods. "Were you hoping that it could be a romantic thing?"

Robin's eyes widen a little–he hadn't actually thought of that. To him, she was a friend–if he could even call her that much–and meeting her was more about putting a face to the letters, extending what was developing into a lovely friendship. All the while, he'd been persistent–this was about companionship, nothing more–he wondered if there was a little part of him that enjoyed the closeness that was developing and wanted more. Or, if that was the vibe he'd been unintentionally giving off.

"Do you think that's why she didn't come?" He asks, looking to Belle. "Do you think she… got scared?"

"It's possible," Belle admits. "I walked around the block three times before actually going to Rockefeller Center to meet Ruby." She shrugs. "Maybe she got cold feet."

He nods–and then, feels his stomach flop. "Or she came in, took one look at me and…"

"Don't even finish that sentence," she cuts in. "There's no way that happened." Robin's eyebrow arches. "You've got that whole… messy-but-attractive, outdoorsy-mountain-man, soccer dad vibe going with the stubble and the dimples and those blue eyes. There's no way." A grin twists onto her lips as his eyes roll. "You know, there is a way to find out…"

"You think I should write to her."

"I think you should write to her." Belle says with a decisive nod.

"And what am I supposed to say?" He asks. "She stood me up. That usually sends a pretty clear message."

Belle's eyes narrow. "We've been over this. There are any number of…"

"She stood me up."

"What if her son was sick? What if she got stuck in a meeting?" She sighs, reaching out and giving his hand a little squeeze. "What if something happened that's beyond her control and she's thinking that you hate her now because she stood you up."

"Why the hell did I ever suggest meeting her?" He asks, shaking his head as his eyes sink closed. "We had a good thing going. Why did I have to screw it up by asking her to meet me?"

Belle shrugs and turns away from him, reaching for a pad of paper. "Maybe you didn't," she says as she slides the paper toward him. "I'll watch the store, you go… figure things out."

His eyes fall to the paper and before he can protest, he feels himself nodding. He takes the paper pad into the office and closes the door, and he tries to think of what he could say to her–and every time he lifts his pen, his mind goes blank. Everything he thinks to say seems too demanding–and though he'd never voice it, he wonders if Belle wasn't right and he was hoping for something more.

 _I'm sorry that things didn't work out last night. I hoped to find a letter from you in today's mail. I'm not sure what this means, exactly, but I wanted to drop you a quick note to see if you're okay. The funny thing about the method of communication is that I have no guarantee that my question will be answered. Still, I wanted to put it out there because…_

He sighs, taking a breath before continuing.

 _…I enjoy you. I enjoy this odd little friendship that we've built over the last several weeks, and I wanted you to know that this doesn't change anything between us. I still want to be your friend, if that's what you still want._

Reading over the short paragraph, he thinks he could end it there. He's said what he wanted to say. But he finds himself compelled to say more, to create some sort of normalcy again–for her sake, and for his–because as uncomfortable as this is for him, to reach out after being stood up, he genuinely meant it in when he'd said that he wanted to be her friend–in whatever way she was comfortable allowing. And, if this was the only way, then so be it.

 _As I waited last night, I had a strange interaction with a person that I loathe–and when it was all said and done, I found myself thinking about how much I wanted to talk to you about it. In part, I wanted to talk about it because of the sheer ridiculousness of this person, but also, because I was hoping for advice._

 _You see, as I was waiting, a woman who has made my life a living hell came in and sat down in front of me. It was crowded and there weren't any tables available and she asked to sit down. She was pleasant enough and offered to buy me a cup of coffee and I was so rude to her–in fact, I was cruel–and no matter what she's done to me professionally, I had no right to say to her what I said._

 _Mostly because what I said was blatantly untrue, and I knew it._

 _Did I ever tell you that I own a store? Probably not, as that's the sort of detail we'd shy away from. But, nonetheless, I own a store. It's a comic book shop and I was proud of it. I built it from the ground up, and even though it's just a niche little shop, it means something to me, and it's something I can leave to my son. And now, that's gone. The woman's company bought me out–I never stood a chance. So, when I saw her last night, all of that anger rose up within me and I hit below the belt. I wanted to hurt her like she hurt me–and, I regretted it instantly. No matter what she's done to me, she didn't deserve what I said to her. I had no right to question her love for her son._

 _A few weeks ago, she came into my store–the store that will soon be a part of her company and rebranded as whatever trend her company sees fit for it. She had her son with her and they spent more than an hour shopping, and in that hour, it was obvious she adored that child–and that he adored her. So, what I said to her was not only untrue, it was uncalled for–and perhaps worse, revealed a side of myself I try not to show and side of myself I hope my son never sees._

 _Now, I'm left grappling with a way to apologize–and truly, I'd love your advice on this. Your input is something I've come to rely on and look forward to. And I sincerely hope that whatever happened last night–or didn't happen–doesn't change this thing we have between us._

 _–Your Friend Always_

He takes a breath and reads it over, and he struggles against the urge to scribble it all out and start again. But for the most part, he likes what he's written; and though some of it seems unnecessary, he needed to confide in someone–and somewhere along the way, that person became her.

Tears well in her eyes as she sits in her office with his note in her hands, reading a note that she should have never seen. It'd been with great intent that she hadn't gone to the Post Office and she hadn't asked for anything to be delivered; but after weeks of showing up at the exact same time every day, the mail carrier who filed the mail into the boxes had noticed her absence and took it upon himself to add the letter to what came to her office building.

Mail had been delivered late that day, and as always, when it arrived the receptionist who manned the front desk was nowhere to be found. She'd bristled as she pushed out of her office, not wanting to be bothered by anything–and still a little tipsy from the jack and cokes Emma provided for lunch–but before she could bark at the mail carrier for having the audacity to arrive at a time not convincing for her, she saw the familiar envelope and hand been rendered speechless.

She hadn't expected him to write.

Returning to her office, she closed the door. Sucking in a breath, she asked herself whether or not she should even open it, all the while knowing that she would–eventually–as soon as she mustered the courage.

For awhile, she'd just stared at it, wondering what he might possibly have to say to her–wondering if he was angry at being stood up, or worse had figured out that he hadn't been stood up at all. Taking a breath, she pulled off the change of address form and the _I know how much you look forward to these_ note from the mail carrier, and opened the envelope–and her tears had been nearly instant.

She didn't deserve his apology and or his friendship, and she didn't know how she was supposed to reply. Briefly, she considered not replying crossed her mind–that would most certainly end this awkward correspondence–but the mere thought of it made her stomach lurch. She hated how much she'd come to rely on his letters, on the company felt she had when she read them, on his presence in her life; and she hated that, yet again, she managed to screw up one of the few good things she had going for her.

Robin Locksley was one of the few people who knew her without her mask. Even her friends rarely got to see that side of her–the unguarded authentic side of herself that she barely recognized. And though she had no right to keep him in her life–not after what she'd done to him–she couldn't let him go, not yet–and she had to figure out how she was going to proceed.

Taking a long, deep breath, she draws out a pad of paper and a pen, and for a little while, all she can do is stare blankly at it–and then, she decides what she wants to say…

 _Unfortunately, I can't explain what happened last night. I wanted to come and meet you–truly, I did–but as always, life threw me an unexpected curve ball. Now, I'm left scrambling, trying to figure out what's supposed to come next. Regardless of the situation, it was never my intent to hurt you, and I hate that I set you up to be in situation that brought you face-to-face with the enemy, when you'd expected a friend._

 _As for the other thing, I wouldn't worry too much. But that's me–and I have a tendency to snap. I lash out and think later, and it's an odd comfort to me knowing that other–especially people I deem far better than myself–do the same. It's a nice reminder of the humanity of myself and others. That said, I understand about burying the less desirable characteristics we see in ourselves for the sake of our children. As an adoptive parent, I am a big believer of nurture over nature–and everyday I try to show my son my best self. I know that I often fall short–but from the sound of things, you miss the mark far less than I do. So, please, don't beat yourself up over something that you said to this woman. I'm sure it was deserved._

Momentarily, she hesitates–she knows there's a way she can help him. Of course, it would mean a loss for her and the company and an embarrassing one at that, and there's no guarantee it would work, but her guilt–or perhaps her humanity– gets the better of her.

 _You know, without the details of whatever's happened, it's hard to help, but I don't think everything you've worked to build is gone forever. You just have to get creative–and fight dirty. I know that wouldn't necessarily be the honorable thing to do and it wouldn't be taking the high road, but I am wondering if it's that something you're willing to do._

She lets out a shaky breath and presses her eyes closed. There's a part of her who can't believe what she's just written, but there's also a part of her–and she thinks that maybe it's a bigger part of her–who feels a bit relieved to have written it. There was always something about Crossbow Comics and Collectibles that hadn't sat right with her, something that made it different from all the others–and perhaps, Robin's passion is what set it apart.

Swallowing hard, she opens her eyes and finishes off the letter, telling him how glad she is that he wrote to her and how she'd liked to keep the correspondence going–and most importantly, she tells him how glad she is to have him as a friend.

Then, she stuffs the note into the envelope, hastily addressing it and sticking on the stamp. She grabs her purse and turns off the light, dropping the letter into the outbox before she goes–and before she loses her nerve, a likely result of her liquid lunch.

 _…I'm not sure what there's left to do. When all of this began, I contacted a lawyer–several of them, actually–and they all told me the same thing. They all told me she'd kill me in court, and they'd aptly pointed out that if I sued, not only was I still likely to lose my business, I'd lose any money I'd saved away–as much as it hurt, cutting my losses was the smart thing to do. And as much as I'd like to…_

He looks up at the sound of the bell on his door jingling and his smile immediately fades at the sight of Regina Mills. Straightening himself, he watches as she steps into the store, her eyes falling to a rack of comics–and for a brief moment, he wonders if she's wandered into the wrong store.

She stands there for a moment, tipping her head from side to side as she browses the display as if there's nothing odd about her presence in his store, as if she's no different than any other customer. When she doesn't find what she's looking for, she turns to another display, crouching down to look at the lower shelves–and he lets out a loud sigh.

"If you're looking for The Fantastic Four," he begins in a flat voice. "It's over here. I haven't had the chance to put out the new editions."

"Oh," she murmurs. "I am, actually." He watches as she rises awkwardly to her feet, and he can't help but notice she'd selected two other comics. "My son enjoys Spiderman and The Avengers, but his favorite will always be The Fantastic Four."

"What are you doing here?"

She blinks as her shoulders shrug aloofly. "Buying comics."

"You are aware that there are other bookstores that sell comics."

"I am very aware."

"Bookstores that you aren't putting out of business."

He watches as her eyes narrow. "I'm not putting you out of business… not exactly." His jaw tightens as she sets the comics in front of him and reaches out, plucking a copy of The Fantastic Four from the stack in front of him. "Listen, I know that you have no reason to trust what I say, but…"

"Very true. I don't. "

"But, I want you to know that… it… it wasn't personal. It was business."

Heat rises up the back of his neck as his eyes widen with indignation. "What the hell does that mean, anyway? _It's not personal. It's business._ Who the hell says that to someone? Of course it wasn't personal to you. You don't care about this store or me, and you sure as hell don't care why I started it and why it matters so much to my customers. The only thing you care about is turning a profit, a profit at any cost. So sure, it was just business to you, but wasn't just business to me. It was _personal_ to me."

He watches as her jaw tightens and her eyes fall away from him–and for a moment, he thinks he's struck a cord. "So tell me then," she says in a small voice that sounds so uncharacteristic for her. "Why did you start it?"

"What?"

Her eyes shift up and her voice rises slightly. "Tell me, then. Tell me why the store means so much to you."

Robin swallows; and he's somewhat taken aback by her question. "Why bother? You don't care."

"So, make me care," she counters. "Make me care about this store." He scoffs, but she persists. "Tell me why I should care."

"Fine," he returns, his voice sharp as he inhales a breath. "Because you're the mother of a son." Her brow creases and again her eyes meet his, and this time, they're softer. He feels a pang of guilt as remembers what he said to her a few days before, and as he slowly exhales the breath and holds her gazes, he pushes the feeling away. "I read an article in a magazine once." He pauses as she leans forward a little, and her interest seems genuine. "It was about how boys–young boys, actually, elementary aged boys–and how they're turned off from reading and the devastating impact that has on their future." He shrugs, "So I decided to do something about it."

Regina's eyebrows arch and her lips part, and momentarily, her eyes trail past him, looking at a display of classic adventure novels. "Oh," she murmurs. "That is… admirable."

"I thought so," he agrees. "It was also personal. I didn't open the store to make money. I opened it so that I could make a difference, so that I could leave something meaningful to my son."

She takes a breath and looks back him him, smiling almost sheepishly. "I… feel like such a jerk."

"Well…."

"Let me stop you right there," she cuts in, her voice returning to its normal curtness. "Before you say something you'll only regret later on." She pauses and for a split second, he sees a flicker of something in her eyes. He can't place what it is exactly–amusement, maybe, or some sort of satisfaction–but before he can pinpoint it, she looks away. "For what it's worth, I am sorry that this… is… affecting you."

"Affecting me…"

"Yes… I'm…"

"How the hell did you think this _wouldn't_ affect me?" He snaps, scoffing at the thought that only a moment before he thought he'd seen some sort of empathy from her, something that resembled something human. "You've ruined… everything I've spent my life creating. How wouldn't that affect me?"

"I suppose saying that I'm sorry would… fall terribly short."

"Yes," he agrees. "It would."

He watches as her eyes fall to the letter pushed the side on the counter–and he watches a slight grin pulls onto her lips. "Is that to her?"

"Her?"

"The woman you were meeting the night that I…" Her voice trails off. "That's none of my business. Nevermind."

Robin feels his jaw tightening and he remembers the advice she'd given–advice to fight dirty. "It is," he confirms, reaching across the counter and taking the comics from her. "Paper or plastic?"

"What?"

"What kind of bad do you want? Paper or plastic?" He blinks. "We're done here."

"I see," she says, nodding as reaches into her purse. "Paper, then."

He rings her up quickly, cashing her out and bagging the comics–and he watches her go, without saying any more to her. And when she's finally out of sight, he feels his the tension in his neck and shoulders begin to fade away, hating how she gets under his skin and unnerves him.

 _You'll never guess who just stopped in…_

Holding the papers in her hands bearing the name of a law firm she'd suggested, she strides forward, doing her best feign anger–and by the looks on the faces as she passes, she's succeeding.

Less than a week before, she'd suggested the name of a law firm which had been a particularly obnoxious thorn in her side when she'd taken over her late-husband's company. Of course, Leopold was rarely sued, but in those first few years, she faced lawsuit after lawsuit–and while Leopold had usually been able to wait out his opponents until they ran out of money to spend on legal fees or lost the desire to fight, David and Mary-Margaret Nolan worked pro bono. In more recent years, their crusade against her had faded, but not because they'd lost interest; instead, she'd changed her tactics, making it less likely the businesses she targetted would sue.

Slamming the paper down on the table, she looks between Ruby and Emma. "We're being sued!"

"What?!"

"No, that's not…"

"Oh, but it is," Regina growls as Emma grabs the papers. "One Robin Locksley of Crossbow Comics and Collectibles has filed suit with…"

"Oh god," Emma sighs. "Of course!"

"Who?" Ruby blinks as she leans over for a better look at the documents. "Who is David–"

"David and…"

"Mary-Fucking-Margaret Nolan," Regina supplies. "Two independently wealthy people who went to law school to help the little guy fight against the big, bad corporate machine." With a sigh, she falls back into the chair behind her. "Fuck."

"This seems… so out of the blue," Emma sighs. "If he were going to sue, he would have done it months ago."

"That's what I'd have thought, too," Regina sighs as Emma's eyes narrow and she looks to Ruby.

"It's almost like… he had some sort of… tip off."

Ruby's eyes widen. "Are you suggesting…"

"No," Regina cuts in. "She's not suggesting anything because it's ridiculous."

"Is it?" Emma asks. "I mean, I'm not saying that you did anything intentional, but you are dating someone who's very close to him and…"

"What? You think I… slipped something in my sleep? Beside, Belle and I have an agreement not to talk about wor–"

Emma's eyebrow juts up and Regina coughs as she looks to Ruby. "You're sleeping with her? You just met her." Emma sighs. "I'm not being judgy I just… that's… that's soon."

"So what?" Ruby shrugs. "I know we just met, but it feels like… it feels like we've known each other for so much longer." A grin pulls onto her lips. "We wrote to each other for months, so this is hardly new."

"Mm, well, when you compare it to the on-again, off-again sexcapades Emma has with her naval officer, how could it hold a candle?" Ruby giggles and Emma's eyes narrow as she turns to Regina, but before she can shoot back, Regina rises to her feet. "Well, ladies, I'd love to keep this catty little conversation going, but I have a lawsuit to prepare for." Taking a breath, she looks between them. "Which I will start doing tomorrow."

"Tomorrow…"

"Yes, I'm taking the afternoon off."

She watches as Emma and Ruby trade glances. "Ooh, got a date?" Emma asks, giggling as she turns back to Regina. "Or…"

"I do, in fact," Regina says, a grin pulling onto her lips. "He's short and has these gorgeous hazel eyes." She nods, and chuckles softly. "And whenever we got out, he lets me eat his leftover fries."

"Sounds like true love."

"It is," she returns with a wink. "And he has a half day today at school and I promised I'd take him to the park–and, we all know how much he hates to be kept waiting." She takes a short breath as Emma and Ruby exchange glances, and she knows exactly what they're thinking–and she's glad neither makes the joke about the apple not falling too far from the tree or speculate about where her son could have learned such behavior. "So, until tomorrow I am putting the lawsuit out sight and out of mind."

And before either of them can point out how uncharacteristic that is for her, she turns out of the conference room, feeling a slight thrill run down her spine over her little victory.

Robin crouches down in front of Roland and tightens the buckle of his helmet. Roland sighs as his head falls back as Robin's hands move to check to ensure that his knee and elbow pads are secure, and he watches as his son looks longingly toward the skateboard ramp.

"Daaaaaad," he whines. "You're taking foreeeeever."

"Well, I want to make sure that if you fall…"

Roland lifts his head. "There's already a kid over there, and I want to actually be able to skateboard before the big kids get here."

Robin sighs and nods as he gets to his feet, leading him over to the ramps. "Okay. Fine. I just… this make me nervous. Every time we do this, I have visions of you breaking an arm… or a leg… or a neck."

"I know," Roland says, giggling a little. "You wanna come?"

"Me? Skateboard? You are a crazy man."

Roland shrugs his shoulders as if the idea isn't completely ridiculous. "You could… if you had a skateboard."

"You're kind to think that," Robin laughs, pushing him forward. "Just… please be careful."

"I will," Roland calls out as he runs toward the ramp–and for a moment, Robin just stands there, watching as his six-year old son, runs across the blacktop to a ramp that looks like a cement tidal wave, and he feels his stomach lurch.

"Well, well, if it isn't Robin Locksley."

Immediately, his shoulders tense at the sound of her voice. "Regina," he says coolly, as he turns to see her sitting on a bench only a couple of feet away. "What brings you here?"

"The same thing that brings you here," she says, a soft smile pulling onto her lips as she nods toward a boy that's just as padded as his own son. "My son likes to skateboard, but he doesn't have a chance to do it very often because the bigger boys are…"

"Intimidating," he supplies.

"Exactly."

"You know, you could always buy the park and kick all of the other kids out," he says, grimacing as soon as the words leave his mouth and her eyes fall away from his. "I… I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

She nods. "I can't say it was undeserved."

"Actually, he sighs as he sits down on the bench beside her. "It was quite undeserved… as the the comment I made to you that night at the coffee shop. It was uncalled for, and I'm sorry."

She smiles a bit sheepishly, and he can't quite tell if it's the cool spring air or if hers are slightly flushed. "Well, I appreciate it, but it's really…"

"Don't say it's unnecessary," he cuts in. "No matter what's happened between us, there's no excuse for my rudeness… especially when it's directed at your relationship with your son."

"Thank you for that," she murmurs, sucking in a short breath as she looks over at him and a smile pulls onto her lips–and for a fraction of a second, he's taken aback by how beautiful she is. "You know, you and I probably shouldn't be sitting on a park bench chatting."

He blinks, a little caught off guard. "Is that your way of asking me to go and find my own bench?"

"No," she says, a chuckle rising up into her voice. "I just… don't think David and Mary-Margaret Nolan would approve of this sort of interaction."

"Ah, you got the papers…"

"I did, and I have to say, I was… surprised," she lies.

"You can't have been that surprised…"

"But I was," she says, her voice flat and void of emotion. "I figured if you were going to sue it would have been months ago."

He nods. "I may have looked into it then…"

"But something changed your mind."

Again, he nods and this time, a smile pulls onto his lips as he thinks of _her_ and her encouraging words. "I suppose you could say that." Letting out a shaky breath, he looks away from her, his stomach churning as he watches Roland roll down a ramp. "Should I move, then?"

"I… don't think that's necessary," she replies. "But we probably shouldn't talk about work-related things."

"I wouldn't mind not talking at all," he says, looking back at her. "The only reason I sat here is because it has the best view of the ramps."

Her eyes narrow. "Ah, then we have something in common." Robin scoffs, but nonetheless nods. "What's your son's name?"

"Roland…"

"That's not a name you hear everyday."

"No," Robin says, shaking his head. "It was my grandfather's name. My wife and I wanted to honor him," he pauses and looks back at the ramp, watching as Roland laughs as something Henry's said to him. "He passed away just before Roland was born."

"Oh, I'm… I'm so sorry."

He nods. "It was a hard year."

"My son is named after my father and…" Her voice catches. "And the man who should have been his father."

Robin looks back at her, and once again, he sees that look empathy in her eyes, mixed with a sort of curiosity, like it wants to ask her, but is unsure if he should–the same look he'd seen a few days earlier when she'd come into his store to buy comics for her son–and this time, the look lasts for longer than a fleeting moment.

She lets the charade of a lawsuit go on for a couple of weeks–and even though, she feels a little guilty for the stress it causes Emma and Ruby, Robin seems to becoming alive. All the while the letters kept going on, and she fed him little bits of advice. It was interesting to her that he hadn't mentioned in his letters their encounter at the skating park, and that aside from the lawsuit, he didn't mention her at all.

At first, she assumed this was him being polite, not wanting to be catty or a gossip–but then, as they interacted more and more, as they ran into each other more and more, she still never earned a mention. They talked about everything–from her road rage walking behind little old ladies in the grocery store to his penchant for star-gazing on the Great Lawn of Central Park. They talked about their childhoods, and the painfully sharp twists and turns their lives had taken, confiding in each other things they'd never dare admit or say aloud.

There's an intimacy about it and a bond that forms, pieced together, scrap by scrap, and each time she sees him, it becomes harder and harder to separate the two sides–and it becomes harder and harder to deny the way he makes her feel.

Taking a breath, she pushes open the door and clenches her jaw, narrowing her eyes as she strides forward. Robin looks up, rolling his eyes as he offers her an exasperated sigh in place of a greeting.

"We need to talk," she says, her voice short as she feigns annoyance.

"I don't think we do," Robin replies, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the counter as a tight smile stretches onto her lips. "In fact, my lawyers advised against it."

"You and your lawyers have become quite a pain in my ass."

He grins. "Glad to return the favor."

Taking a breath, she nods–watching for a moment the way his eyes shining at his little victory, the dimples beneath his stubbly cheeks sinking in. "I… have a proposition for you."

"I'm not interested."

"You haven't heard it."

"If you're involved, I am not interested."

Regina's eyes narrow. "You have to have your price."

"I'm not interested in selling," he says. "Not that I've ever been interested in–"

"No," she cuts in. "That's not what I mean. I…" She swallows hard as his eyes meet hers. "There has to be something I can do to… settle this."

"I want you out of my life."

"Nothing else?"

"No."

She takes a step forward, and he watches her curiously. "Listen," she begins, her voice tentative as her stomach flutters. "I'd like to be able to settle this outside of court, and I'd like the opportunity for my company to save face." She takes a breath as he leans in, his interest obviously piqued. "Just… hear me out."

"Fine. Talk."

"Not here."

He laughs a little, straightening himself out as he grabs a stack of books and rounds the counter. "You're really something, you know that?"

"So, I've been told." He looks back at her sharply and a smile pulls onto his lips–a smile that seems to surprise him. "Have lunch with me."

He blinks, his eyes widening. "I don't think so."

"Please," she says, her voice determined. "It'll give us a chance to… come to some sort of agreement that we can both live with."

"I don't think it's likely that we'll find common ground over lunch."

"You're right," she nods. "It not likely that one lunch will solve anything." He looks back at her, his brow arching at the too-easy concession. "It'll take a least a few."

"You're impossible," he sighs, once again looking away as he begins to reshelve the books, sighing audibly when she follows him. "And wasting your time."

"Insistent isn't impossible," she counters, watching as he crouches down in front of one of the shelves. "And I assure you, Mr. Locksley, if I thought I were wasting my time, I wouldn't be here, and I'll have you know that I am not the type to give up." A grin stretches up from the corner of her mouth as his head falls back and he groans loudly. "Have lunch with me."

"And if I do, that'll make you go away?"

"I didn't say that," she says, letting a chuckle rise into her voice as he rises to his feet and turns to face her–his annoyance more than evident. "What I said is that I have a proposition for you."

"And _I said_ that I wasn't interested."

Sighing, she shakes her head. "We're talking in circles."

Robin blinks and she can see his jaw tightening. "You might be the single most infuriating person I've ever met in my entire life."

Again, she laughs softly. "Not the first time I've heard that either." His eyes widen and he steps around her, once again rounding the counter and leaning against it. "Have lunch with me. Hear me out. And… and if you… never want to see or hear from me again, so be it." She takes a step forward, her smile fading as his head tips to the side. "Just hear me out."

Robin's eyes sink closed and he takes a breath, slowly releasing it as his eyes open. "Fine."

"Excellent."

"Belle comes in in twenty minutes. Will that do?" He blinks. "There's a pretzel stand on the corner."

"I thought I'd at least deserve a hot dog," she scoffs, grinning as she watches him struggle against a smile. "And if I really only have one shot at this, then I want to be properly prepare. Nothing off the cuff." Her shoulder straighten as his eyes come to meet hers. "A real business lunch."

Robin sighs. "This is going to take up an entire afternoon, isn't it? You're going to make me go to some expensive place that has a dress code and over-priced appetizers, aren't you? "

"Yes," she nods as a grin twists onto her lips. "But if you're lucky, I'll still let you buy me that pretzel."

At that, he laughs–a loud and genuine burst–and her smile brightens. "I… look forward to it," he sighs half-heartedly as she offers him a quick wink, then turns to the door, feeling like she's won a tremendous victory.

"You look _adorable_ ," Belle very nearly squeals as she adjusts his tie. "Really, Robin, you should dress up more often."

He bristles and shifts his shoulders, feeling both uncomfortable and ridiculous wearing a suit. "You sound like you're talking to Roland."

"Well, Roland shares his daddy's good looks."

Robin's eyes roll. "That boy is all Marian, and you know it." A grin pulls onto his lips. "But thanks for the vote of confidence." Belle grins and pats his chest before turning away from him and opening the office door. "Do you… know anything about this… lunch?"

Belle looks back at him as he follows her out of the office. "No. Ruby and I don't talk about… you or Regina or… whatever is going on between the two of you."

"There's nothing going on," he's quick to say, his cheeks flushing as Belle's eyes widen. "I just mean…"

"Protesting a bit much?"

"No," he sighs. "It's just.. Regina Mills isn't…"

"Your mystery girl?" Belle cuts in, her smile growing coy as his eyes widen. "I see the way you look at those letters… and the way you look at Regina Mills."

His eyes narrow. "I don't look at Regina Mills in any particular way."

"And the letters?" Again, he bristles as he tugs at the cuffs of his shirt, doing his best to dodge the question–and then Belle giggles as she watches him. "Roland really is his father's son," she tells him. "I'm having flashbacks to that sweater vest I made him wear last Easter."

A grin tugs up at the corner of Robin's mouth. "Ah yes, the blue straightjacket."

"He was being so dramatic…"

"A trait I'm afraid can't be pinned on Marian."

"No," Belle agrees, shaking her head as she reaches for his hand, tugging him out from behind the counter. "Go on, you don't want to be late. Who knows what she'd do to you."

Robin laughs and nods, and as he inhales a long and deep breath, he heads out of the store in the direction of the restaurant Regina chose for their meeting. Of course, he'd never even heard of it, much less been a patron of it–and as he walked, he wondered what the hell he was doing and why he even felt compelled to attend.

For the first time in months–since all of this began, really–he found himself with the upper hand. Yet, here he was, going to lunch with her to hear whatever plan she'd cooked up; and he knew there was no reason for him to do anything more than hear her out, he wasn't sure why he was compelled to do even that.

But she's been so persistent, so determined–and her deep brown eyes had lit up with a sort of excitement that he was loathe to admit made him curious.

When he arrives at the restaurant the hostess directs him to the table where she's waiting for him–and for a moment, all he can do is stare.

She's sitting there at a table, her legs crossed in a navy blue skirt and a crisp white shirt with navy piping. She's staring out at the restaurant, lost in thought, her eyes hooded and her lips painted in deep crimson–and for a split second, he's taken aback by her beauty.

And then, a pang of guilt stabs at his core and brings him back into the moment.

Regina smiles as the hostess seats him, placing a menu in front of him as she rattles off wine lists and specials–and his eyebrows arch when she orders an expensive bottle of chardonnay.

"I thought this was a business lunch."

"It is," she insists, her brow furrowing. "But who says business can't be mixed with a little bit of pleasure," she adds with an aloof shrug of her shoulders. "How do you feel about shrimp cocktail?"

He blinks. "I'm sorry?"

"As an appetizer."

"Oh…"

"Of course," she begins as her eyes fall to the menu. "My son would not approve of passing up the pretzels and beer cheese dip." She grins. "He puts cheese on everything."

A smile tugs onto his lips as he remembers something from one of the letters–remembering another little boy whose favorite condiment was cheese. "We could do both."

"Both…"

He shrugs. "I assume you're buying."

Regina's eyebrows arch and she laughs softly. "You assumed right."

"After all, aren't these sorts of things tax deductible?"

"Yes," she said, nodding as she takes a breath. "And if I didn't pay, it might not be obvious that this is… my way of apologizing."

"Apologizing…"

A grin tugs on to her lips. "Don't make me say it twice."

"No, I wouldn't dream of it," he murmurs. "I wouldn't want you to break out in a rash."

At that, she looks up sharply and for a moment, she holds his gaze–and then, her laugh rings out, and in spite of himself, he can't help but smile.

The waitress returns with their wine, and takes the order for the appetizers–and for just a moment, he nearly forgets why he's there in the first place.

Nearly–but not quite.

"So, um, about that proposition of yours…"

"Right," she nods, taking a breath. "That is why we're here."

"It is…" She takes a breath and hesitates for a moment, and for split second, he thinks she looks disappointed–and for a split second, he feels a bit disappointed. She draws a folder from her bag and slides it toward him. "It's detailed here," she begins, her voice tentative as he opens the folder. "Instead of… doing what I normally do to little business like yours…"

"You mean take them over, dismantle them bit by bit, selling off any of the profitable bits to the competitor with the highest bid, then rebrand the rest into something unrecognizable?"

Her lips purse as he winces–he hadn't meant to say that or at least not with the curt tone he'd used. "Yes," she murmurs quietly.

"I'm sor–"

"Don't," she interjects, her voice rising over his. "You're right. That is what I usually do." And then a smile curls onto her lips. "But that's not what I'm going to do this time."

"And why's that?"

"Because you have something unique, something worthwhile and something worth expanding." Taking a breath, his eyes fall to the documents in front of him–lots of legal jargon with charts and graphs and projected data–and then, he looks back to her, and once more, he finds her smiling. "Your motivation behind starting your store… hit home," she says simply. "And it's fun and marketable and… " She shrugs, "You've got a good thing going and I have no desire to ruin it."

His lips part, ready for another jab at her, but before he can get the words out, the waitress is bringing their appetizers and her cell phone is buzzing from her bag. She offers a regretful little grin as she reaches for it, telling him that she has to take it and to feel free to start without her–and he watches as she disappears into the tiny enclosure at the front of the restaurant.

Taking a breath, he reaches into his pocket, pulling out the unopened note. He feels odd sensation–something that feels like guilt–as he realizes this is the first time he hasn't immediately opened one of her letters. Looking back over his shoulder, he watches as Regina gestures with her hands, carrying on what looks like an intense conversation–and then, his finger lips underneath the seal to open the letter.

He reads through it quickly, smiling softly as his eyes move, and he resolves to give it a more thoughtful read later on as he prepares his response–and then, he catches the last line.

 _So,I've been thinking about this for awhile and I was wondering if you'd be willing try meeting again. The timing's not right–I'm in the middle of a project that needs some tweaking–but I was wondering if you'd be open to it._

"I am so sorry," Regina says briskly as she joins him at the table. His breath catches in his chest as he shoves the notecard and envelope into the folder, swallowing hard as she sits back down. "My partner, Emma, called… apparently I forgot to tell her the details of this lunch and…"

"She was upset?"

"Confused is more like it."

"I see…"

"This isn't the sort of thing I do all that often."

"No," he murmurs, feeling a stronger, sharper pang of guilt as his fingers fall away from the notecard as he looks to Regina, suddenly feeling inexplicably conflicted. "I don't imagine that it is."

Regina bristles as she looks between Ruby and Emma, biting down on her bottom lip as a reminder not to snap at them, to let them process and consider her proposal. She's well aware of how atypical it is– _this_ isn't what _they_ do–and she's well aware that she's caught them off guard.

But she didn't anticipate this stony–this unnerving–silence.

She knows that what she's said is jarring, and she'd offered them little explanation other than a weak line about avoiding a lawsuit. Nonetheless, it's a good idea, and in the end will be a profitable one. It's a smart business move, she reminds herself, and there's no other reason to go through with it.

"Oh, for the love of god," she sighs. "Just say something!"

Ruby's eyes slide to Emma, whose lips part in an attempt to reply, and then closer when her voice fails her–something that's happened an annoying number of times since their meeting began. Regina's eyes roll as she crosses her arms over her chest–and she considers adding a little tirade about how the company's hers and she hardly needs to ask their permission.

"Look," she says, taking a breath as she looks between them. "I'm not the one who called this meeting. So, if you're not going to _say anything_ then you're just wasting your time." She pauses momentarily, allowing Emma the chance to reply–and when she doesn't take it, her eyes roll again. "And most importantly, you're wasting _my time_."

"I just… don't get it," Emma says, finally.

"Yeah, this… isn't… like you," Ruby adds, obviously choosing her words carefully. "You're normally… more… of… a…" Her voice trails off and she grimaces, shrugging her shoulders.

Regina's eyes narrow. "If you meant _bitch_ just say bitch."

"I was going to say man eater."

"I'd prefer bitch, actually…"

"It's just you usually have this… this badass, take no prisoners sort of attitude," Ruby says with a shrug of her shoulders. "This is just… a little soft."

"It's not soft," she counters, as she feels her jaw tightening and her tone becoming increasingly defensive. "It's a good business plan. It's smart."

"Regina," Ruby says as she sucks in a breath. "What this is going to cost _us_ is jus–"

"It'll pay itself back in the long term."

Ruby's eyes slide to Emma–likely in an effort for back up, for another voice to chime in and explain how utterly uncharacteristic it is for her to do something _nice_ –and Regina finds her partner's lack of response unsettling.

Then finally, Ruby looks back at her. "You always say all you care about is the here and now."

"This is different."

The finally, Emma speaks–and immediately, Regina wishes she hadn't. "You're in love with him, aren't you?"

"That is _absolutely ridiculous_ ," she spats too quickly to be taken seriously. "I am not _in love_ with him." Her shoulders square as she looks between them, heat rising up the back of her neck. "I barely know him and I know better than to fall in love with…" she grimaces at the overly dramatic indignation in her voice, but for the life of her, she can't stop it. "…some comic book _nerd_ who doesn't shave and…" she sighs, huffing a little as she feels herself spiraling rapidly into uncomfortable territory, "…smells like forest."

"Forest."

"Oh my god, Regina. You _smelled_ him?"

"He was… sitting close…and…"

"Robin Locksley smells like forest."

"Careful Regina," Emma laughs. "That vein in your forehead looks like it'll pop any second."

"Look how cute she is when she's flustered," Ruby says, a laugh rising into her voice. "Of course is that vein bursts, she'll be a lot less cute."

"I hate you," she says, scowling as she leans back in the chair. "Both of you."

"Regina Mills is in love," Emma says in a sing-song voice that makes Regina's scowl deepen and her cheeks to flush brighter. "I always wondered what that would look like."

"I… don't think I love him."

"But you like him…"

"Don't even try to deny it," Ruby says just as her own lips part, prepared to protest. "Your cheeks are giving you away."

Sighing loudly, she lets her head fall back as her eyes pinch closed.

They're not wrong–but she wishes that they were. Because no matter what–no matter how hard she tries to undo the things she did to him, no matter how many letters they write or books and recipes they trade, she'll always be the heartless woman who tried to ruin his life–just as she had with countless other small, independent booksellers–and she would always be the woman who did it without batting an eyelash, and could go home and get a full night's sleep, and never give any of them a second thought. She would always be her; and she wasn't the sort of woman a man like Robin Locksley would ever want to be with. So, how she felt didn't actually matter–what mattered was making things right between them, and maybe then, he'd still want to be her friend.

"This isn't where we usually grocery shop," Henry says, looking over at a display of fruit. "And it's blocks and blocks and blocks and _blocks_ away from home." His face scrunches. "Hopefully it all fits into one bag."

"I know," Regina murmurs, taking his hand and tugging him toward the deli. "That's why we'll be taking a cab home." She pauses and offers him a little grin. "Besides, I thought we'd do something a little different for dinner tonight."

"Like what?"

A grin pulls onto her lips as she thinks back to Robin's last letter–remembering the soft smile that pulled across her face when he started out by telling her he'd been thinking of her son.

"Well, for starters, they have a cheesy chicken spaghetti…."

"Ooooh," he coos.

"…that I think is really just alfredo with extra cheese on top."

"I like alfredo," Henry says simply.

"And they have garlic bread that stuffed with mozzarella."

"These are all things I like."

Regina nods as her eyes shift up to the red, white and green pennants that hang from the ceiling and again she smiles as she remembers Robin's letter–remembering the detail he went into about the tiny little Italian-American market, and it's like his words are coming alive.

There isn't a detail that he missed–from the black and white tile flooring to the stainless steel and glass casings, to the smell of baking bread and marinara.

"Mom," Henry whispers loudly, tugging at her hand and pulling her back into the present moment. "Who is that?" He asks, as she looks up to see Robin Locksley standing just a few feet away. "Do you know him?"

"Yeah," she murmurs. "I work with him… kinda."

"Oh," Henry says, a grin pulling onto his lips. "He looks familiar." He blinks up at her. "Is that your other friend?"

"From the park," she's quick to say. "You were skateboarding with–"

"Roland! From the skate park!"

Swallowing hard, she nods–and her stomach flutters as Robin starts toward them, his brow creasing curiously. He tips his head to the side, offering her what might be interpreted as a smile–and once more, her stomach flops and she pulls her hand from Henry's so that he doesn't notice how clammy her palms are getting.

"Well, well, if it isn't Regina Mills," he calls. "This isn't your neighborhood."

"It's not," Henry answers. "It's actually really far from where we live."

Robin's eyebrows arch and he looks from Henry to Regina and she feels her mouth going dry. "Is that so?""

"We've… heard good things about the garlic bread."

"We heard it's cheesy," Henry adds as she struggles against her urge to grimace. "I'm a fan of that."

"As am I," Robin returns as a soft chuckle rises into his voice. "You know, my son hasn't been able to stop talking about you and that… little, uh, flippy thing you did."

Henry grins, but Regina's eyes widen. "What flippy thing?"

"Just a skateboarding trick."

"I assure you," Robin cuts in. "It's not nearly as dangerous as it sounds."

Nodding, she takes a breath and slips her hand into her pocket–she can feel edge of the envelope, resting deep in her pocket, and her finger rounds the edge. "Henry," she says as her eyes fall to him. "Can you go over and get some orange juice?"

"We have orange juice."

"It's expired."

"I had some yesterday. It tasted fine."

Her eyes narrow–she's not quite ready for him to make a mention of the cheese spaghetti or to make some other comment that will be difficult to explain away. In one of her last letters to him, she'd proposed they meet again–and he quickly responded that he wanted to, telling her that she could pick the time and the place, and he would be there. But she wasn't quite ready–she'd only wanted to know if he'd be open to it again. So she told him that she was in the middle of a project that she couldn't quite pull herself away from just yet, a project that was in need of some tweaking. She could sense his disappointment in his response, but he'd reiterated that he was ready and willing whenever she was–and then, things had gone back to normal.

And while she enjoys being coy with him in person–casually mentioning the things that come up in their letters–she also likes to be in control of what's said, and with Henry, she can never quite be certain of what will come out of his mouth.

"Fine," he sighs, a little too dramatically as he pushes himself forward. "But I'm not getting the kind with pulp."

"Nor should you," Robin laughs, grinning as Henry sulks toward a an aisle at the other end of the store. "You shouldn't have to chew your juice."

Her eyes roll and a grin tugs up from the corner of her mouth. "So helpful."

Robin nods. "You'll notice I am shopping without my son… and there's a reason for it."

"Where, um… is your son?"

"With a friend," he replies. "Every now and then, she takes him on little after school dates."

"Dates…"

"Yes, the two of them… not me… I'm not invited."

"No?" She asks, tipping her head to the side. "So, this friend isn't… um… she's not a… girlfriend?"

"No," he's quick to say–so quick that he doesn't seem to pick up on her awkwardness. "God. No. She's kind of like a kid sister to me and… no," he laughs. "She isn't my girlfriend."

There's something about the way he says it–the way he stresses the word _she_ and the way she cheeks flush beneath the stubble of his beard. "So is there someone… else then?"

The knot in her stomach tightens as she watches his blue eyes widen, taken aback by her less-than direct question–and she can tell that he's not quite sure what to make of it.

"You don't have to answer that, I just…" she shrugs and takes a short breath. "It just occured to me that we've been working together–in one way or another–for months now and, there's so much I don't know about you."

"I'm not sure I'd call what we're doing _working together._.." Momentarily his voice trails off, and she can see a hint of a smile in his eyes. "But there isn't anyone… well… not exactly."

"Not exactly?"

"There is the… possibility that there might be someone." His eyes sink closed and he shakes his head. "It's a really complicated situation… I've never even met this woman and I think I'm…" His eyes open and a chuckle rises into his voice as it falters. "And I have no idea why I'm telling you this."

"Because that's what friends do."

"You think we're friends?"

"Maybe," she shrugs, looking past him and watching as Henry hauls a jug of orange juice toward her. "I've recently been informed that I need to… broaden my social circle."

"And you want me in that circle?"

"Maybe…."

"I got the juice," Henry says, interrupting and sighing as he hands her the jug. "Can I get a box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch? It's on sale here."

"You have a cereal at home."

A tight grin pulls onto his lips. "It's expired."

She rolls her eyes and nods and Robin laughs out and Henry's smile broadens. She shakes her head and looks to Robin, as Henry runs toward the cereal aisle, likely wanting to claim his box before she changes her mind.

"He is so your son…"

"Yes, I've passed on manipulative and smart-mouthed traits."

"Not the worst genes to pass on…"

"Well, in this case, it wouldn't be due to genetics, but watching my behavior… which as you know, sometimes leaves a lot to be desired."

Her eyes meet his–and for a moment, she wonders if she's said too much and that the implication that her son was adopted finally connected the dots she'd been scattering.

"You're a good mother, Regina," he says, his voice sincere and without any hint of deception. "I've been… meaning to say this for awhile, but I'm sorry about what i said that night at the coffee shop."

"Oh, you don't have to…."

"I do," he cuts in. "And I've waited too long to say it. But I am sorry. It was rude and uncalled for, and no matter what you did to me, I had no right to say what I did."

"You were… obviously stressed and waiting for someone…"

"I was," he says, letting out an exasperated sigh and smile pulls back onto his lips, his dimples sinking into his cheeks and his blue eyes shining. "I was waiting for…. well…" His voice trails off and his smile grows almost bashful as he struggles to maintain eye contact.

"We should have dinner."

"I…" He blinks. "What?"

"Dinner, you and me…" She shrugs as the knot in her stomach tightens, and she tries to play it cool. "I have some paperwork to go over with you and…"

"That sounds good," he nods. "When?"

"Tomorrow," she's quick to say–quick so she doesn't lose her nerve. "Bring Roland."

"Okay," he says with an easy nod. "What time? Six?"

"Perfect," she agrees. "I'll text you my address."

"I'll… bring a cheesecake or something."

"And you'll be Henry's hero."

He grins and nods, and for a moment, he lingers–and for an all too brief moment, he looks confused or conflicted or perhaps even surprised. But it doesn't last, and he says a quick goodbye–and her heart flutters when he says he's looking forward to dinner.

Reaching into her pocket, she pulls out the letter she was going to send on the way home, and she tears it in half–there's something else she wants to say.

"Mom," Henry calls out to her as he carries a family sized box of Cocoa Puffs toward her. "I got the cereal."

"I see that," she laughs.

"Was that your imaginary friend?"

Looking down at him, she rolls her eyes and nods. "Yeah."

"I like him."

"Me, too," she murmurs in reply as her arm folds around Henry's shoulders and hugs him to her side. "Is it okay if he comes to dinner tomorrow?"

Henry looks up at her. "You never let anyone come over for dinner."

"That's not true. Emma comes over sometimes."

"For dessert."

"She calls that dinner," Regina's says with a smile and a sigh, as Henry's brow furrows. "Speaking of, I think it's time to order that spaghetti."

"What's that?" Roland asks, laying his head on his arm and turning his brown eyes upward. "You've been staring at it for a long time."

A grin pulls onto Robin's lips as he looks to his son. "It's a letter."

"From who?"

"A friend."

"Oh," Roland nods, as his eyes fall to the letter. "What's it say?"

Robin takes a breath–and his stomach flops, and he wonders if Belle had something to do with this. "The library is… doing a book talk on _The House of Mirth_."

"What's that?"

"A book…"

Roland giggles. "Daaaaad…"

"It's my friend's favorite book," he says, his stomach fluttering a bit. "She sent me a copy once and she wants me to go to the thing at the library with her."

"Oh," Roland murmurs, looking back to the window and watching as their cab swerves around another car to pass it. "That sounds kind of boring."

Robin grins as he looks from his son to the letter. "I don't know about that. I think I'm going to go." He nudges his son's arm as the cab pulls up in front of a building, and he watches as Roland chin tips up as he up at the towering building. "You won't mind spending an evening with Belle tomorrow night?"

"Nope," the boy replies gingerly without looking up. "She always lets me have ice cream."

At that, he rolls his eyes and shoves the letter back into his pocket. Grabbing the bottle of wine he'd chosen–something that had taken longer and more consideration than he'd cared to admit—and he paid the cab driver, and then, he took Roland by the hand and and tried to ignore the aching discomfort at his core.

Over the course of the past few weeks, he'd met with Regina several times. They met for coffee and lunch, she stopped in at the shop and they'd seem to found a penchant for running into each other amid their daily errands and routines. Usually they meet under the guise of work– it hadn't taken him a long time agree to her plan, always new things to consider, more paperwork to sign and legalese to sift through–and he suspected that for her, there was more to it than simply wanting to make it up to him for nearly launching a wrecking ball through his life.

He hasn't lingered on that thought for too long though because every time he did, he nearly couldn't stand the gnawing at his insides or that little voice that chided him for being such a cad.

He shouldn't be pursuing Regina Mills, nor should he allow her to pursue him. Yet every time she called, every time they ran into each other, he couldn't find it in himself to turn her away.

To say he was conflicted was an understatement–the more time he spent with Regina, the more he found himself attracted to her. He enjoys the way she challenges him, the banter between them and the way she refuses to back down. There's something about the way she carries herself–with such confidence and bravado–and something about the way she looks at him that sends a little tingle down his spine something that makes him feel alive.

And when she opens the door, and smiles broadly, he's reminded of of just how deep her eyes are.

She offers him a lopsided grin as she lets him him, helping Roland with his jacket–and then, they both laugh as Roland runs off toward Henry, disappearing into his bedroom.

"All afternoon, all he's talked about is Henry."

She nods. "And Henry feels the pressure to be _cool_. You should see how his video games are all laid out." He chuckles softly as her eyes fall to the bottle of wine. "Ooh, malbec," she murmurs, grinning as she looks up at him. "That'll go perfectly with dinner."

"I'm glad," he says, shifting a little awkwardly as he hands her the bottle. "I didn't realize until it was too late that I'd never asked what you were planning."

"It wouldn't have been too late," she says as she starts toward the kitchen. "Anyway, this is perfect because it's Fajita Friday, and…"

"Fajita Friday?" He asks, a little smile edging onto his lips. "Is that your take on Taco Tuesday?"

She nods. "Henry likes themes and Mexican food, but boy scouts is on Tuesday so we never have time. So, I made up Fajita Fridays." He follows her, letting his eyes trail over the apartment's decor. It's everything yet nothing he imagined–and so like her. Everything is done in shades of black, gray and white, yet it doesn't feel sterile. It's homey and inviting, yet it's just a little bit intimidating. "Do you like chicken or steak?"

"Oh, either is fine."

"I have both."

"Steak then," he says, watching as she opens the refrigerator and stands up on her toes to reach the top shelf–and he can't help but smile. Usually when he sees her, she's wearing heels and a suit or some kind–and usually dressed to kill. But tonight, she's more relaxed in a cream colored sweater and a pair of dark jeans; her hair is pulled back and her feet are bare, and there's something softer about her now–and something oddly familiar that he can't quite place. "Can I help?"

Turning back to him, a grin tugs up from the corner of her mouth and she tosses him a red pepper. "Cut this."

There's a comfortable rhythm between them that feels so natural, and it catches him off guard. He decides not to overthink it, to instead to enjoy it–and every time the odd sense of guilt creeps into a moment, he as a little more wine.

They finish dinner with the boys, and are quickly abandoned for _The Legend of Zelda_ , and once the table was cleared and the leftovers ere put away, Regina topped off their glasses, emptying the bottle. She'd picked up her glass and carried it to the living, and he'd followed wordlessly behind her, his head dizzy but his shoulders relaxed.

"You know," he begins as he sits down beside her, watching the way she draws up her legs and curls them beneath herself. "We've yet to do any work…"

Her eyebrow arches and a smirk twists onto her lips. "Do you think that's wise? Considering your state."

"Are you implying that I'm drunk?"

"You've had an awful lot of wine…"

He scoffs. "That's… entirely true." Regina laughs and he can't help but smile. "Honestly, though. Isn't that why you invited me here? To work?"

"And I thought you were here to bask in my shining disposition." She looks away from him, and for a lpit something there's something shy about he–bashful almost, and completely endearing. "I really only need you to sign the paperwork and then… we're all set. You can be through with me, if that's what you want."

"Oh," he murmurs, suddenly taken aback by the wave of disappointment that washes over him. "Then, I supposed I should sign them."

Her lip catches between her teeth."That might be a problem," she confesses. "The paper work is in my office."

"You forgot it?"

"No, I… I didn't forget it."

His brow furrows. "Then, why did you invite me here tonight?"

"I think you know why."

"Do I?" He asks, his mouth suddenly dry and stomach suddenly in knots.

"I like you, Robin. I like you a lot." His eyes sink closed as he silent chides himself–he wants more than anything to tell her that he feels something for her, too, but all he can think is how unfair that would be to her. Taking a breath, his eyes open, and a brief moment, he looks at her lips, thinking about how soft and smooth they look, wondering how sweet they'd taste and how good they'd feel against his. "Do you ever wonder how things might have turned for us had we met another way? If you hadn't been Crossbow Comics and Collectibles and I hadn't been a corporate raider… if we'd just met at the skate park or at the library or… maybe if I'd just come into your store one day, looking for a copy of the Fantastic Four for my son?"

He nods as his eyes shift to hers. "I'd have asked for your phone number and… I wouldn't have been able to wait even a day to call you and ask you for a date."

"I'd have said yes…"

"And I'd have been thrilled. I'd have taken you to dinner and maybe for a walk in the park, and…"

"And I'd have wanted it to last for…" She smiles a little as she shrugs her shoulders. "For as long as we both shall live."

"Regina… I'm sorry, I shouldn't have…" He sighs and shakes his head, feeling the guilt stabbing at his core. "I shouldn't be saying things like this to you when… when I'm… I'm…"

"In love with someone else?"

He nods. "Yeah."

"The woman you were waiting for at the coffee shop? The one you were trading letters with?" He nods again and his chest aches, hating that it has to be this way, hating himself for feeling so torn, but nonetheless sure that he's betraying someone in this moment. "I see…"

"I'm so sorry."

"Don't be…"

"But I am." He takes a breath. "I'm meeting her tomorrow."

"And you're sure? You're sure that you're…"

"In love with her?" He nods. "Yes, but I've not idea how she feels about me. She didn't want this to be anything romantic."

A soft smile edges onto her lips. "She'd be a fool not to love you back."

Taking a sip of the wine, he takes a breath, nodding as his eyes fall away from her–and his disappointment turns to sadness. "I'd hate to lose you as a friend."

For a moment, she doesn't respond and he watches as she takes a long sip of her wine–and then, a smile pulls onto her lips. "I… have a sneaking suspicion that you won't have to worry about that."

"No?"

"No…"

"And why is that?"

Her grin brightens and turns a bit coy, and once more, she shrugs her shoulders–and for the life of him, he can't figure out what she's trying to say, if there's anything at all she's trying to say or it makes him feel the way that it does. "You'll just have to trust me," she tells him, offering him a quick wink before finishing off her wine.

Regina shifts nervously on the bench, careful to keep her eyes focused on the door.

She's exactly where she said she'd be, wearing exactly what she said she would wear, and holding the exact copy of the book that she said she'd be holding–wanting to leave no room for misunderstanding or confusion.

Her stomach flutters as she crosses her legs, her eyes still fixed on the door.

She knows how he feels about her–he plainly admitted to being in love with the woman he'd been sharing letters with the night before, not knowing that it was her; and he'd nearly very nearly admitted to having feelings for her, fully aware that it was her. But he hadn't realized the two women he felt so conflicted about her were one in the same. And she can't help but wonder–and worry–how he'll feel about it and whether or not he'll see it as some sort of betrayal.

Taking a long breath, she closes her eyes and tries to push away the thoughts, trying to focus on the good that could come from this. For weeks, she's found herself falling deeper and deeper, faster and faster, and she found herself feeling things she didn't think were possible. It'd been so long since she allowed herself to even imagine a life for herself that involved any sort of romantic love and for so long, she'd been willing to accept that that the hope of that had died with Daniel. But Robin changed things–in some ways, he'd changed her and reminded herself of the person she'd once been, a person she'd liked being.

She hears the bell on the door and her eyes fly open, and she finds herself sitting up a little straighter. A nervous smile pulls onto her lips as she seems him, and suddenly, she finds it difficult to breathe, momentarily caught up in a series of what-ifs–and then he turns.

He doesn't smile–not at first. He only stares, tipping his head to the side as he looks at her, obviously not yet understanding. His eyes linger over her, noting the bench she's sitting on and the sweater she's wearing, and then his eyes fall to the book on her hands.

Her lip catches between her teeth and she turns it around so he can see it–a movie adaptation cover they'd once joked about in a letter–and her heart flutters wildly as she offers him a little wave and he takes a tentative step forward.

"Regina…"

"Hi," she murmurs a bit awkwardly as he nears.

"I don't… I don't understand." He swallows hard, once more looking to the book and then back to her. "It was… you? This whole time, it was you?"

She nods. "I hope you're not too disap–"

And then when he smiles, her voice fades. His smile is one that stretches across his lips, lighting up his face and shines though his eyes, the sort of smile that can't be faked or conjured for someone else's benefit, the sort of smile that's pure and genuine–and the sort of smile that brings her such relief.

"I wanted it to be you," he confesses. "I didn't think it was possible, but I wanted to to be you so badly."

A smile tugs up from the corner of her mouth, practically exploding and radiating through her, and then suddenly everything goes blurry. He laughs a little as he steps in closer, swiping tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. On hand cups her cheek and the other sweeps into her hand, moving to the back of her head as he draws her in and kisses her.

She can't stop her tears as she kisses him back, giggling softly against his lips with complete disbelief. Her arms form around him, one over his shoulder and the other around his back–and for a moment, it feels like the entire world is standing still, allowing them this moment.

He pulls back, and he's breathless as he rests his forehead against hers, letting his hands slide to her neck. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that."

"I… think I do actually," she says, laughing a little as she leans in to peck her lips. "You're not… upset?"

"No," he's quick to say. "I'm relieved. I am so, _so_ relieved."

"I'm glad. I thought maybe you'd be…"

"No," he cuts in. "Not at all."

Her cheeks flush as he takes a step back, once again smiling as he takes her hand, giving it a little tug as he pulls her toward room where the book club is being held. She laughs a little, letting him pull her along, unable not to notice that he's holding the copy of _The House of Mirth_.

"You never told me if you liked the end," she murmurs, looking up at him as his arm slides around her waist. "We talked about everything but the end."

He nods, hugging her a little closer to him as they walk. "I think… sometimes it's better if we make up our own endings."

"I like that," she says with a nod, considering how she always saw her own story so closely linked with Lily's, how she always wondering–and fearing–her ending would be just as tragic, and how every time she read she'd find herself hoping that somehow something had changed. "I like that a lot."

Robin presses a kiss to her temple as they round a corner and near the room where the book club meets. "Let me take you to dinner after this?" She looks up and finds that he's still smiling–that his smile has somehow even brightened. "There's a little thai place just…"

"Around the block," she says, nodding as she feels her heart flutter. "It's a favorite of mine."

"Mine too," he murmured as she she laughs, shaking her head just before leaning up onto her toes to kiss his stubbly cheek. His arm folds around her, and her breath catches as he pulls her in the opposite direction of the room.

"Robin, what are you…"

"We have ten minutes until the book club starts, and if I'm being perfectly honest, I'm not sure that I care when it starts or if we're there for it." She laughs and shakes her head, letting him lead her. "I think we've tortured ourselves enough for one lifetime."

Her eyes widen a little. "What are you suggesting?"

"That we stop wasting time and… enjoy each other," he replies easily as he pushes her back against a bookshelf and he kisses her again, cupping the back of her head with his hand as he parts her lips with his tongue. She kisses him back, her tongue sliding against his as her hands settle at his waist–and she smiles into the kiss, realizing just how good it feels to finally be more than just content.


	2. To the Future and Fox Hats

Regina's stomach flutters nervously as she shifts herself on the couch, reaching for her wine and curling her feet beneath herself. This is her third official date with Robin, but they're hardly in a place where most couples would be upon a third date. For months, they'd traded letters–getting to know each other and falling in love. For awhile, it had all been anonymous–something fun and flirty to fill their time, giving them each a sort of pseudo-companionship, filling the void that a real companion might. **  
**

She hadn't been looking for love, at least, not this sort of love, and it took her by surprise–especially when she learned who he was. At that point, she'd been convinced it could never work between them. In their real, everyday lives, he hated her– and with good reason. She'd been trying to destroy his career for her own professional gain, and rarely did she allow anyone to see beyond her tough exterior. She knew the way others perceived her–a black widow in the publishing world–and she did nothing to change that. In fact, she embraced it. She liked that the men who dominated her field feared her, she liked that they viewed her as icy and cold, and she wore the _bitch badge_ they'd pinned to her proudly.

That was who she was professionally, that was what she presented to the world, and she had no interested in letting down her guard or allowing anyone to see past her the façade she'd worked so hard to build. So that was the woman Robin Locksley knew–and, therefore, could never love.

But she was wrong–and she'd never been so glad for it.

"You like asparagus, right?" he calls out, looking up at her from the stovetop where he stands. "If not I have green beans as a backup."

Laughing softly, she nods. "Asparagus sounds amazing."

"Good, because the green beans are of the canned variety," he admits, offering a sheepish grin. "My son only eats vegetables from a can. He thinks the fresh kind would kill him, I think."

She laughs, remembering when Henry was Roland's age and staunch in his belief that oranges and orange juice completely tasted nothing alike, that cake and cupcakes were completely different, and that bologna sandwiches were disgusting, but hot dogs were his go-to meal of choice.

"Are you sure I can't help?"

"Positive."

"I… just feel sort of useless," she admits. "And I like to cook."

"I know you do," he tells her, grinning as he looks to her. "But I'm giving you a night off."

She feels her cheeks warm as she sips her wine, grinning over the rim as her gaze falls away from his. Robin Locksley is nothing if not considerate of her, and she's not sure she's ever had anyone like him in her life.

That afternoon, after a business meeting that went on for far too long, she'd returned to her office to find a little white envelope sitting on her chair. She'd immediately recognized his hand writing on the front of it, spelling out her name, and she brightened as she opened it, remembering the letters they'd exchanged and how she'd looked forward to them.

Her finger slipped beneath the seal, pulling out a little note card that explained that Robin found himself free for the evening and wondered if she was available for dinner at short notice. Belle was taking Roland on a date, of sorts, to see _101 Dalmations_ on the big screen at some fancy theatre uptown. Afterwards, she was taking him for a dinner of his choice–which he knew would be fast food–and since they'd be getting in late, she'd offered to keep him for the night, leaving him completely free for the evening.

By the time she'd finished reading the card, Emma was standing in her doorway, wearing a stupidly sly grin as she asked if she needed someone to take Henry for the night–and when she cautiously said that she might, Emma nodded knowingly, admitting she'd already planned a night of pizza and arcade games that she'd probably enjoy more than Henry would.

She'd gone through the rest of the day with butterflies in her stomach–and Emma and Ruby teasing her about what a _third date_ meant, and how convenient it was that they'd be all alone at his apartment. She'd rolled her eyes at the notion, but when it came time to pack Henry's overnight bag, she found herself packing one for herself… just in case.

"It's almost ready," he tells her, grinning. "And I have to say, for a guy who makes mac-n-cheese four nights a week and chicken nuggets the other three, I'm rather impressed with myself."

"I'm sure I'd agree… if I knew what you were up to in there."

He grins. "Well, you know about the asparagus."

"Right," she laughs, taking another sip of her wine. "That solves it all."

"I will tell you, though, that if this doesn't pan out, I've got a frozen lasagna ready to go in the freezer."

"Again," she says, uncurling her legs and leaning forward, trying to catch a glimpse into the kitchen. "I am a fantastic cook. I would love to hel–"

"Sit."

"But–"

"No," he grins, his eyes falling to her nearly empty glass. "You need more."

"Oh–" Before she can decline, thinking it might be best to wait until dinner is served before she has another glass, Robin is rounding the counter that divides the rooms, a bottle of apple riesling in hand. "Well, if you insist."

"I do," he tells her, topping off her glass. "And if you're bored–"

"No, no, no. I'm not. That's not why I–"

He chuckles softly as her voice trails off, his blue eyes sparkling in a way that makes her feel giddy and nervous, and a bunch of other things she's only just getting used to feeling again. "Well, if you'd like something to do to pass the time while I'm finishing up dinner," he says, "There are some magazines over there, books, too. I'm sure you can find something."

She nods, as he disappears into the kitchen again and she grins as she watches a little puff of steam rise up when he lifts the lid to stir whatever it is he's cooking.

Rising up from the couch, she wanders over to the bookshelf that spans the length of the wall. Being in publishing and bookselling, it's always something she pays attention to when she visits other people's homes–and she's not at all surprised to see a lot of Hemingway, biographies of explorers, like Meriwether Lewis, and tales of legendary Native American chiefs. She scans the spines, noting a particularly well-loved copy of the _Nick Adams Stories_ and equally loved copy of Elizabeth Barrett Browning poems that _does_ surprise her. The lowest two shelves are filled with children's books, things ranging from _Clifford the Big Red Dog_ to _Harry Potter_ to a few Choose Your Own Adventure-type books.

And then, on a little ottoman beside an overstuffed armchair, there's a cooking magazine. She can see the dog-eared pages and curiosity gets the best of her–and when the first page falls open to prosciutto wrapped asparagus, her grin turns to a full-on smile.

Somehow, the thought of him pouring through old cooking magazines–all of which are addressed to Belle–picking out dishes that are far out of his kid-friendly comfort zone and dishes he thinks she'd like, makes her heart flutter a bit.

Catching her lip between her teeth, she glances up to see Robin very focused on stirring something–and when she flips to the other dog-eared pages, she decides he's probably working on the risoto. She giggles a little, remembering something about risoto that she'd written in a letter–something about the effort it takes and how it's the sort of dish you serve to show someone they're worth your time.

The main course, she realizes will be baked salmon, and the apple-cinnamon smell that consumed her as soon as she entered the apartment likely wasn't a scented candle as he'd claimed, but a cinnamon apple crumble cake.

She smiles and bites down harder on her lip, setting the magazine down as she watches him stirring with a sort of focused determination that's nothing short of endearing–and then, as she looks away, a framed picture of a toddler-aged Roland catches her eye.

"Oh my god," she breathes out, reaching for the picture to get a better look at the curly-haired, dimple-cheeked little boy with big brown eyes, grinning a nearly toothless grin as he sits in a mound of leaves, holding onto one rather large maple leaf. He's wearing a thick brown quilted jacket that's open over his jean overalls and a little orange and blue flannel shirt, and on top of his head is a little knit fox hat that just might be the cutest thing she's ever seen.

It has little ears sticking up and tiny button eyes, and black little nose that seems to take up half of Roland's forehead. Unruly little curls stick out from underneath the hat, and clipped to the pockets of his coat are matching little gloves that look like fox paws–and the sound that escapes her would be embarrassing in anyone else's company.

"You found the fox hat picture," Robin says, not looking up from the risoto.

"How did you know?"

"That's… usually the response it earns."

She laughs a little. "He's just _so cute_."

"I know," Robin says, grinning. "He was obsessed with that hat."

"Was he?" she asks, her brow arching. "Or were you."

"I think it was a little of both."

"I'm sure–"

"He didn't like his ears to be cold, so he'd try to sleep in it."

"And I'm sure you let him."

"Of course," Robin replies easily, chuckling softly. "I'd come into his room and his head would be pressed against the mattress, those little ears poking up, and his butt in the air–"

"That's adorable–"

"It was," he agrees. "It was a sad day when I realized it no longer fit him. I still have it, though."

"I'm sure you do," she says, finally placing the frame back on the table next to the chair, but keeping her eyes on Roland's smiling little face. "That's a keeper."

"Mm," he murmurs, "I… always sort of hoped I'd get to use it again."

She blinks, her shoulders stiffening a bit as she looks back to him. He's grinning sweetly and he looks a bit unsure–and when a slow grin edges onto her lips, a smile breaks out across his making her heart skip a beat and her stomach flutter.

"Just a thought… for another time."

She nods, biting on her lip. "Definitely," she agrees, distracted by what that might mean and finding herself enjoying the prospects. Now, isn't the time, of course, but it's easy to get caught up in the _maybes_ with him, easy to picture a future with him, and it's reassuring to know that she's not alone and they both seem to be headed in the same direction.

But for now, she decides as a timer dings, she just wants to enjoy a quiet dinner and see where the evening takes them.


	3. The First Time in a Long Time

Tucking her legs beneath herself, Regina watches as Robin opens a new bottle of wine, and she chuckles softly to herself as he offers her a triumphant little smile that makes her stomach flutter as the cork pops free–and she can't help but think that in this moment, she envies him.

He looks so calm and at ease–barefoot and shoulders relaxed–as if this night were an ordinary occurrence, baring no weight or significance, enjoying it for what it it is.

He returns to her, topping off her glass, then filling up his own, before setting the bottle on the coffee table. He settles back down on the couch–sitting close but not close enough for their knees to touch, and once again, as he props his head up with his hand and smiles at her, she feels her stomach flutter.

Since receiving his note asking for an impromptu date, she'd been nervous. Emma and Ruby hadn't helped, and spent the better part of the afternoon swapping stories about third dates that ranged from disappointing to disastrous. She'd laughed along and acted aloof, but her friends did little to quell her nerves–and somewhere between then and arriving at Robin's apartment, she found herself thinking of all the ways their night could go wrong. All the way there, her mind reeled. She hadn't been able to stop thinking about what would happen if and when he discovered some part of her–some flaw–that he couldn't quite live with, what would happen if something between them didn't quite click, what would happen if whatever it was that was between them fizzled out.

And it terrified her–but then again, there was very little about their relationship that didn't terrify her.

And excite her and make her feel like a doe-eyed idiot, making her feel things she'd long forgotten she was capable of feeling. Until Robin came into her life, she hadn't realized how unhappy and unfulfilled she'd been; and, until Robin came into her life, she hadn't realized how happy and fulfilled she could be.

"You know," he begins, reaching out and skimming his hand over her leg. "It's getting late."

"It is."

"Are you getting tired?"

"No," she tells him, shaking her head and grinning as two of his fingers skim up from her knee to her thigh and then back again. "Not tired. Just drunk."

"Ah–"

"But, not too drunk," she tells him, cutting in and sounding a bit too urgent as her eyes widen. "It's more of that I have a nice buzz going." She grins, her eyes casting down and watching as his fingers trace circles over her knee cap. "

"So… not too drunk to decide that you want to stay the night?"

Her brow arches as she looks back to him. "Are you asking me to spend the night?"

He nods, chuckling softly as she takes a long sip of his wine. "I, uh… I wanted to ask before, but I didn't want to be presumptuous or–"

"Well, it is the third date."

"That doesn't mean anything."

"Doesn't it?" she counters–and then she laughs out. "Speaking of presumptuous, I might've packed a bag."

"Did you?" he asks, brightening as he shakes his head. "But I didn't–"

"I shoved it all in my purse," she admits, her voice a bit sheepish as she looks to the oversized leather tote that sits by the front door, a tote that goes nearly everywhere with her. "Henry calls it my Mary Poppins bag."

"Does that mean you've brought a coat rack or–" Her eyes roll as she looks back to him–and when their eyes meet she finds them soft and amused. "Or perhaps you've brought a talking umbrella to give you a bit of advice?"

Her stomach flutters and once more that annoying little voice at the back of her head reminds her of how long it's been since she's spent the night with a man, and how much longer it's been since a man actually wanted to spend the night with her.

Her marriage wasn't exactly a happy one. She and Leopold never had that honeymoon phase where they couldn't keep their hands off of each other, and though they shared a bed, they typically stuck to their own sides. Though, in those early years, every now and then, Leo found himself in the mood and she'd felt pressured to oblige. But those times were far and few between. She could count them on one hand and all she remembered about them was how mechanical and lacklustre they'd been–and then, somewhere after that first year, they'd stopped sharing a bed in any sense of the word.

There were always rumors that she'd had affairs–how else could she have landed some of the contracts she did?–but she'd never cheated on him, though Emma constantly insisted that she should.

Not long after she'd inherited the company, she and Emma were out for drinks and they ran into one of the junior editors. He'd sat down with them and had a few drinks, and the next morning, she woke up in his apartment. She left just minutes before his alarm clock was set to go off, went home and took a shower, then put on a powersuit and her highest heels–and when she got to the office, everyone knew. So, to save face, she fired him before he could even get off the elevator.

After that, there'd been the occasional random man she picked up in bar or pretty face she'd spotted on a dating website. It was no one lasting and no one she'd ever have to face in the morning, and that was how she liked it. Even then, it'd been more effort than it was worth. Arranging a sitter generally wasn't a problem, but when Henry was little, he didn't like her to be away. He cried when she left and clung to her when she'd arrive at Emma's apartment to pick him up, and sometimes after her date had slipped into the shower, she'd check her phone and find a series of voice messages he'd left for her, asking when she'd be home.

Dates became fewer and fewer over the last couple of years. She'd convinced even herself that it was for the best. Ruby and Emma often teased her about having a particularly pleasurable showerhead or a collection of vibrators tucked away in her nightstand, and she laughed along with them, maintaining air of not wanting or needing a man.

But the truth was, it wasn't about what she wanted and much less about what she needed.

"You know, I'm glad I didn't scare you off earlier," he says, bringing her back into the present moment. "I, uh… I wasn't really thinking and…"

She blinks, completely lost. "I… don't know what you're talking about."

"I told you I wanted more children."

"Oh. That."

"Yes. That." He laughs a bit awkwardly, but doesn't pull himself back. "Obviously, I don't want them now. Just… eventually. One day."

This time, it's her who shifts a bit awkwardly.

At some point, she should tell him.

But if she tells him now, that'll only lead to a conversation–a long and likely difficult conversation–and now isn't the time for that.

She grins a little as Robin babbles, stumbling through an awkward explanation of why he'd make that particular comment and when he thought to say it, he hadn't been thinking about the implications of this particular date. He stumbles through it and adds that he hadn't even really thought about this date being anymore than any other date, that he just wanted to spend time with her–and then, drawing in a breath, she leans forward and kisses him.

His voice halts as her lips press to his, and it takes a moment for him to respond.

She feels him pull away her glass of wine, and then as he sets their glasses aside, he pushes forward, easing her back against the arm of the couch. Her arms go up around him, settling loosely around his neck and for awhile, they just lie there together, trading lazy kisses.

Robin lips taste like wine and he smells vaguely of pine–a smell she now knows is the compliments of the soap he uses–and his beard tickles her cheeks and chin. She laughs a little as her hand slips upward and her fingers push into his hair, pulling him deeper into the kiss as her free hand strokes up and down his back.

His hand slips beneath her shirt, coasting up over her bare skin, sending a tingle up her spine.

She shifts herself and tries to break the kiss, then laughs when he doesn't quite let her, following her movements rather than allowing her to pull back–and again, it makes her giggle.

She wants more of this, she decides as she pushes herself up into a sitting position and slides her hand up his chest, gently pushing him back–then, a bit reluctantly, he lets her.

Their eyes meet as they struggle to catch their breath and she licks her lips, already missing his, as she reaches down and pulls off her shirt. Robin's eyes immediately shift and her shoulders shift back a bit, and she watches as he swallows hard, clearly enjoying the way the black satin bra fits her.

She grins a little, remembering how just before she'd left the office Ruby called after her, reminding her to wear a cute bra and panty set and she remembers how she'd rolled her eyes, scoffing as she asked Ruby if she looked like the kind of woman who owned anything other than sexy black undergarments–and while it was true she had a penchant for black satin and lace, as she stood in her mirror with half of her lingerie drawer dumped out onto her bed, she couldn't help but notice how plain most of them were and how they might look to someone else hadn't really been something she'd ever considered.

She'd settled on a set that she hadn't purchased intentionally–the store sent the wrong style and she'd been too busy to send it back in any timely manner–and now she finds herself glad that, perhaps, fate intervened.

Robin's eyes are focused on her chest and he seems unable to look away–and perfectly content to never have to. The bra is a push up style, making her cleavage a bit more pronounced and while the cups are mostly satin, they're detailed with a bit of flirty lace.

He swallows hard and offers a sheepish little smile as he looks back up–and then, he leans back in, kissing her again. It's harder this time with an urgency that hadn't been there before, and when she pushes closer to him, his hands reach for the waistband of her pants as she pushes at his shirt. Their kiss breaks as she tugs his shirt over his head, and he takes the opportunity to stand up and move them to the bedroom.

She follows his lead, her fingers loosely tangled around his, and she feels her stomach flutter a bit when he turns on one of the lamps, then turns back to her, grinning.

"So, you… you're sure you want to?"

"I'm standing here, half naked in front of you," she deadpans. "Yes, I want to."

Chuckling softly, he nods and holds out his hand to her. "I just wanted to be sure."

"Well, I appreciate that and… and I'm more than sure."

"Yeah?" he asks, taking hold of her hand and tugging her to him. "You're positive?"

"Absolutely," she murmurs, leaning up on her toes and pressing a kiss to his lips and letting her hand ghost down his side to the waistband of his pants.

Robin's hands slide into her pants, easing them down as his fingers press into the soft satin fabric that covers her ass as she works to undo his belt. He takes a step back as she steps out of her pants and she laughs a little as he takes another half-step back to the bed–and suddenly, she feels him laughing into their kiss.

"At the pace I'm going," he murmurs, breaking the kiss and looking down at their feet. "It'll be morning by the time we reach the bed." Then, he looks back at her, once more a bit sheepishly. "It's just… been awhile and I'm…"

"A little worried?"

He shrugs, then nods. "Perhaps, and perhaps a bit worried about being… overeager. It has been years since…"

"No such thing as being too eager," she tells him, laughing softly as she steps toward him–and maybe it's because he's all but admitted to the same worry and insecurity that she was feeling, but she feels it fading away. "And, this isn't exactly new to either of us, so–"

"Right–"

Her eyes linger over his body and she releases a shadow breath as she considers how good this is going to feel to be with him–to feel him inside of her, to let him hold her, to feel his hand and lips exploring her and–

Somewhat abruptly, her eyes shift up and she takes a step in, no longer wanting to think about it. She takes another step in and presses her palm to his chest, suddenly feeling confident and in control.

He grins as he looks to her hand and when she steps in again, she takes his lips in hers. She sucks hard at his bottom lip, her hand relaxing against his chest as her fingers slip into his boxer briefs. He lets out a little grunt as her fingers slide over his hard cock, forming around him and slowly pumping up and down the length of him.

Again, she steps forward, guiding them toward the bed and when the back of his legs hit the edge of the bed, he stops and she breaks the kiss–and she watches the way he reacts as her hand pleasures him.

He, too, seems a little more relaxed–and with a soft little grunt, he sits down on the edge of the bed, regretfully forcing her hand away. She grins, though as she starts to sink down to her knees, licking her lips as her eyes meet his–and then, to her surprise, he leans forward, his arm looping around her waist and pulling her to him. She laughs out as he lays back, pulling her on top of him.

He's laughing too as he pecks at her lips, reaching up and pushing her hair from her face, tucking it behind her ears. She bites down on her bottom lip as he reaches behind her, squeezing at the clasp of her bra. She feels it loosen around her back, she sits up, straddling his hips as he pulls it off of her, watching him as he takes her in–and suddenly, she feels so ridiculous for having worried about any of this. Before she can dwell on it, she realizes her nervousness has been replaced with anticipation and excitement, and something else she can't quite place, but something that fills her with a sense of contentment–and again, before she can dwell for too long on what she's feeling, Robin sits up, his lips crashing down onto hers as his arms wrap around her back.

And with one last fleeting thought before giving into the lust that's been building up between them all evening, she finds herself thinking about how lucky she is that he's hers.


End file.
